


The Ted Zone

by KristenBealer



Series: The Ted Zone [1]
Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Behind the Scenes, Comedy, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristenBealer/pseuds/KristenBealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We first met Ted in "The New Kid," but then he disappeared almost entirely from the show. Two seasons later, he got one line in a single episode that confirmed he was still attending Lawndale High. What the hell was he doing during all that time?  Let's find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. GifTed

Ted was struggling to account for Mr. O'Neill's bizarre interpretation of _Great Expectations_. _Is he using irony or is this an experiment in reverse psychology?_ He was just starting speculate that perhaps the teacher was actually describing a different work with the same title when Ms. Li walked into the classroom and interrupted the lecture.

"Attention, young people! I have an exciting announcement. Grove Hills, the school for gifted and outstanding students, has issued invitations to several of our students to visit its campus. And among those so honored is Mr. DeWitt-Clinton!"

"Wow!" Ted exclaimed. The other students were silent. _They must be too overcome by admiration, and perhaps even envy, to speak._

As Ms. Li left the room, Ted reflected on the extraordinary good luck of being able to experience not just one, but two schools in such a short time. He wondered if he should visit other schools as well.

_Maybe that place just outside of town, the Carter County Center? There are sure to be some interesting people there! I read about the students in the newspaper all the time. And I've heard it's very well-funded. It has a state-of-the-art security almost as thorough as the one at Lawndale High. But would my parents let me transfer to a juvenile detention facility?_

Ted turned his thoughts back to Grove Hills as Mr. O'Neill continued his enigmatic lecture. _It sounds like it could be an interesting school. I'll have to do some research and find out everything I can! Does it offer a challenging curriculum of advanced classes? Will I have a wide variety of extracurricular activities to choose from? And, most importantly, are any of the students visually impaired?_

Ted had become popular almost immediately upon arriving at Lawndale High, thanks to his skill with virtual reality games, but within days he'd abruptly and inexplicably fallen into total obscurity. Barely anyone at school paid him any attention anymore, not even his fellow freshmen.

He couldn't even convince a senior to give him either a "swirlie" or a "wedgie," each of which appeared to be some kind of time-honored hazing ritual. He'd overheard some students mention them once in passing and he was eager to learn more about them--perhaps if he was lucky, even experience them firsthand.

When he first noticed his shift into anonymity, he'd hypothesized that he had turned invisible. Unfortunately, that disastrous experiment at the Seven Corners intersection during rush hour had ruled out that theory. Just to be safe, he'd repeated the experiment with similar results at the counter at Pizza King as well as the Cranberry Commons food court.

Now he was certain, and it was just as well--his parents had soon after expressed very firm opinions on the issue of public nudity.

_I haven't been able to account for the strange phenomenon yet, although research so far seems to indicate that it's most prominent here at Lawndale High School. This visit to Grove Hills might be my chance to find out if this was a random fluke or if other schools develop peculiar blind spots for students, as well!_

  
  


"Welcome to Grove Hills!" A thin girl with honey-colored hair greeted Ted after he arrived. "My name is Marina."

"Hello, Marina!" Ted replied, eagerly shaking her hand and looking around the room. "I'm really glad I could come!"

It had been harder than Ted expected to convince his parents to let him visit Grove Hills, because they kept talking about corruption by other students, the inevitable decay of society, and the utterly depraved lyrics of "Yellow Submarine." In the end they'd given in with the condition that he not, under any circumstances, accept gum from anyone.

Marina moved on to talk to other people and Ted began his observation in earnest. _Marina could see me_ , he noted. _So if Grove Hills is vulnerable to the same blind spots as Lawndale High, then perhaps they don't affect the recruiters._

He looked around at the other students, watching for any unusual patterns or strange behavior. He also took in the artwork (reproductions), the potted plants (artificial), and the refreshment table loaded with punch and appetizers (gum-free).

At last he saw a grim-faced blond boy give a half-hearted wave to another student, who immediately turned her back and faced the opposite direction. The blond boy sighed and looked down at the floor.

_He's being completely ignored by his fellow students! Perfect! I must study him more closely._

When the blond boy looked up again, Ted's face was inches from his own. "Gah!" he cried.

"Oh, good!" Ted smiled with relief. "So you can see me?"

"Of course I can see you!" the surprised boy hissed, taking a step back. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

"I don't know, but I'm hoping you can help me find out."

The boy took another step back and eyed Ted with no small amount of fear. "Look, I've heard this kind of thing happens to some of the kids who go here. Can you try to keep it together while I go get the school shrink?"

Ted shook his head and laughed. "Oh, I'm not a student here. I'm one of the visitors. My name is Ted!" He abruptly stuck out his arm and the other boy leaped back with a strangled yell.

After a few moments of Ted failing to savagely attack him, the boy relaxed--slightly--and tentatively returned the handshake. "I'm David."

"It's a pleasure to meet you!" Ted tightened his grip and leaned forward, causing David to flinch. "I'm conducting a scientific experiment. Would you be willing to assist me?"

David wrenched his hand free and took several quick steps backward. "Look, uh, Ted," he stammered. "I'd like to but, um, I'm going to go...get some punch. Good luck with your whole being-totally-insane thing, okay?"

Ted watched the boy flee to the other side of the room. _Gosh, I wonder if his erratic behavior has anything to do with his fellow students' obliviousness. Since I'm not in any way abnormal, then it will be difficult to compare our two cases._ He looked around at all the other students. _Still, there's no reason I can't continue to gather data while I'm here._

As he began heading toward the nearest group of teens, he briefly wondered how his parents were getting along with the other adults. _I'm sure they'll be fine as long as they get off on the right foot with everyone else._

  
  


"I'm Leslie DeWitt, and this is my husband, Grant Clinton."

"Nice to meet you. My name's Andrew Landon. You might have heard of me--I invented the folding coffee cup."

" _Coffee?!_ "

  
  


Ted saw the student who had had failed to see David earlier and headed straight for her. _First hypothesis: Grove Hills students have extremely poor vision._ He pulled a random book off a shelf as he passed it.

"Excuse me," he said, interrupting the girl in mid-sentence, "but could you please tell me what this word is?" He opened the book, held it a couple of feet from the girl's face, and pointed to a word on the page."

The girl gave him a look of utter bewilderment but then glanced at the book and said, "Ubiquitous."

"Very good!" He pulled the book back a short distance. "And this one?"

"Widdershins."

"Excellent!" A little further back. "How about this?"

"Diphthong." As Ted started to move the book yet again, she held up a hand to stop him. "You're one of the visiting students, right?"

He nodded. "It's been a very entertaining visit so far, in spite of the appalling shortage of gum."

"Uh huh. So how did you get invited if you can't even read any of these words?"

Ted giggled. "I see there's been a misunderstanding. I can read the words just fine!"

The girl waited, but no further clarification came. "Then why...?"

"Oh! This has just been a simple vision test." He closed the book. "You did surprisingly well. I assumed your eyesight would be quite inferior!"

"I beg your pardon!" The girl drew back, offended. "I have 20/20 vision!"

"Really?" Ted asked, disappointed. He leaned in to peer closely at her eyes. "No sporadic lapses or blind spots, then?"

"I can see perfectly," she replied, flinching away from his examination. "I'm particularly good at spotting idiots."

"That sounds like a fascinating ability!" He tilted his head curiously. "Although I suppose it wouldn't be very useful at a school for the gifted."

She glared at him before turning back to the other kids. "You'd be surprised."

  
  


"It's a relief to hear you're no longer with U.S. World, Michele," Grant said, still eying Andrew with mild disgust. "I'm sure you're happier refusing to support a system of exploitation and fraud, right?"

"Actually, I'm going back as soon as Evan is in daycare."

Leslie immediately turned her hateful glare from Andrew to Michele. "You're willing to abandon your own son to the care of total strangers?"

"Damn straight!" Andrew cut in. "That's exactly what I--"

"Shut up," Grant, Leslie, and Michele snapped in unison.

  
  


_Second hypothesis_ , Ted speculated as he looked for someone else to analyze. _The girl who helped me with my earlier research implied that some Grove Hills students actually have a low mental capacity. This may account in some way for their inability to recognize their fellow students._

He watched as a red-haired boy with a sour look on his face snubbed David completely. _Time for my next test_.

"Hello," he said to the boy as he approached. "May I ask you a few questions?"

The boy looked witheringly at him and grumbled, "I think I've had enough conversation with wannabes tonight."

"Wannabes?" Ted asked. "Is that a kind of novelty snack food? I've heard of Ding Dongs and Ho Hos, but not Wannabes. Do they contain processed sugar or--"

"Get to the point!"

"I'd just like a few minutes of your time for an important scientific inquiry!"

"Fine. I've got nothing better to do, I guess."

"Thanks!" Ted cleared his throat and asked, slowly and distinctly, "What color is a banana?"

The boy narrowed his eyes. "What is this, a trick question?"

Ted smiled apologetically. "If that one is too hard, I--"

"Yellow."

"Right! Now, what do you get if you add two plus two?"

Again the boy looked suspicious, but cautiously answered, "Four."

"Well done! And what sound does a cat make?"

"This is ridiculous," the boy said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'm not answering any more of these questions."

Ted gave him an understanding nod. "I see. These questions were obviously too challenging for you, which confirms my theory that--"

"Too _challenging_? I'll have you know my IQ is 165!"

"Really?" Ted asked, startled. He glanced over at David, still on the other side of the room, then back at the red-haired boy. "Do you think it's possible that your high IQ still doesn't make you smart enough to see--"

The boy exploded. "I _am_ smart! I'm not boring! I'm not miserable! And I do _not_ have my head up my butt!" Jamming closed fists against his eyes, the boy turned and ran out of the room with a high-pitched wail.

"'Head up my butt'?" Ted repeated, confused. "I had no idea that Grove Hills participated in such extreme and unorthodox yoga techniques!"

Curiosity overcame him and he began to lean forward, seeing how far he could bend himself. Then he stopped himself and sighed. _One experiment at a time. I need to come up with a new hypothesis before the evening is over and it's time to go home._

He closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate. _It's not eyesight. It's not mental capacity. Could it be some kind of paranormal phenomenon restricted only to teenagers, or perhaps even just teenagers in Lawndale?_

Ted opened his eyes. _Time to gather more data. And to see if the refreshment table has any of those Wannabes._

  
  


"Look, there comes a point when you have to let your children out of your sight!" Michele crossed her arms and glared back at Leslie and Grant. "Your son goes to school for six hours a day, just like our daughter."

"Only six?" Andrew snorted quietly. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

Leslie ignored him. "For your information, we homeschooled Ted until recently."

Andrew sputtered, " _Homeschooling?_ Oh, this just keeps getting better."

"What's wrong with that?" Grant demanded.

"Oh, nothing." Andrew smirked. "If you want to coddle your kid with an easy workload instead of letting him learn to deal with _real_ challenges and pressure."

Leslie scowled. "In other words, turn him into a mindless shill for capitalism with a soul that's completely black?"

Tensing at the word "black," Michele screeched, "And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

  
  


_Third hypothesis: some kind of supernatural interference is causing the blind spots._ Ted chose a girl at random and walked up to her. "Do you attend this school?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied politely.

"How is your vision?"

"Okay, I guess," she said slowly, looking at him with mild curiosity.

"And would you say your intellect is at least slightly above average?"

"I'd like to think so." Her expression was beginning to shift toward one of concern.

"Please look over there," he said, turning to point directly at David. "Do you see that young scholar by the fireplace?"

The girl sneered and rolled her eyes. "Scholar? I don't see anyone who meets _that_ description!"

"Fascinating! Finally, have you ever noticed any unexplained occurrences, perhaps along the line of space-time anomalies or even alien activity, either at this school or anywhere else in Lawndale?"

"Whoa," the girl said, staring at Ted. "Usually the nine percent of students who bug out wait until after they enroll before they join the Nutcase Brigade."

"Nutcase Brigade?" Ted asked, eyes wide. "Something tells me you're not referring to a novelty snack food, are you?"

  
  


Andrew snorted. "You can say all you want about capitalism, but it's been pretty good to us!" He jabbed a finger toward a nearby window. "You see that Jaguar out there? I _earned_ that through hard work and ingenuity!"

Grant snorted. "You mean you used your ill-gotten corporate gains to pollute the environment and display to the world that you worship at the altar of crass materialism!"

Andrew stared incredulously at him. "And I suppose you walked all the way here? Or did you float along on your own smug sense of self-righteousness?"

"We took the bus, of course," Leslie replied, shaking with indignation. "As it happens, we also use solar power and grow our own food!"

"What, you can't even afford to buy groceries? Exactly how poor are you, anyway? And, more importantly, how much of my taxes are supporting your ridiculous lifestyle?"

  
  


_I give up_ , Ted thought sadly. _Not one of my hypotheses has been supported by research. All I've learned is that one student has 20/20 vision, another has a 165 IQ, and the last one is obsessed with nine percent of something._

He gasped in surprise. _But maybe that's it! Perhaps these numbers they've all mentioned--20, 165, and 9--all combine in some way to construct a formula that explains the mysterious circumstances I've been struggling to understand for so long. Perhaps, after all this time, I'm finally on the edge of a breakthrough that could completely revolutionize everything the world thinks it knows about the laws of physics and--hey! That guy has gum!_

As Ted raced toward the gum-bearing student on the other side of the room, he decided his research would just have to wait. _I hope my parents had a more productive evening than I did._

  
  


"Immoral corporate puppets!"

"Welfare-cheating hippies!"

  
  


"It's just as well you've decided not to go to Grove Hills," Leslie said across the bus aisle to Ted as they rode home. "If there's one thing we've learned tonight, it's that corruption and greed are lurking everywhere, no matter where you go."

Grant grimly added, "There's no escaping it these days. Some people might not see it, but we'll never turn a blind eye. Right, Ted?"

Ted nodded, glad that someone else understood what it was like to observe other people's selective vision. "I just wish I knew what caused it!"

Leslie snorted. "I blame today's shallow, materialistic culture. At least our family can resist the empty promises and artificial products society forces on everyone else." She peered more closely at her son. "Are you eating something?"

Ted immediately swallowed the gum he'd been hiding in the side of his cheek. "Oh, no. Just, er, reflecting on your words. So, did you meet any interesting people tonight?"

The distraction worked perfectly. "We did battle against the very personifications of evil," Leslie said.

"And tore their repulsive philosophy of corporate slavery to shreds!" Grant added. The two solemnly thrust their fists into the air in triumph, and a man sitting behind them quietly moved to another seat.

"Oh, that's a relief!" Ted smiled. "I was worried you wouldn't have any fun."


	2. The Ted Zon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted goes alternative with Brittany Taylor, but soon discovers that her life may be at stake. Can he prevent a tragedy before it's too late?

"Hiiii!"

Ted had just walked into Lawndale High School one morning when a blond cheerleader almost immediately approached him. For the first time in weeks, one of his fellow students was addressing him directly. "Oh!" he said, surprised but pleased. "Hello."

"My name is Brittany," she said. "What's yours?"

"We met not too long ago, remember?" he said, slightly disappointed at her lack of recognition. "At the yearbook meeting. I--" Ted suddenly recalled that during the encounter, he had caused someone he suspected was her suitor a considerable amount of pain. _Reminding her of that incident might distress her so much she'll end this conversation. And it's the first real interaction I've had with another student in such a long time!_

Brittany tilted her head and peered more closely at Ted's face. "You do look kinda familiar," she said slowly. "Um...it started with a 'T,' I think...Terry, right?"

"That's as good a pseudonym as any," Ted cheerfully replied.

"A what?"

"It's not important," he assured her.

"Okay!" She frowned again, thinking, and added, "Oh, yeah. I wanted to ask you something. You don't do sports, right?"

Ted briefly considered telling her about his isometric exercises or his family's massive backgammon tournaments but decided that probably wasn't what she meant. "I suppose not. Is that a problem?"

"It's perfect!" she squeaked. She then took a deep breath and began speaking very quickly and very angrily about the relative importance of anniversaries versus Pigskin Channel marathons. Someone named "Kevvy" was heavily featured in this monologue and, from what Ted could understand between all of the shrieks and sobs, this person was not only shockingly self-absorbed but also brutish, unintelligent, and (although it was possible Ted misheard this one) in possession of an undersized rooster.

Her overall thesis appeared to be that she was sick and tired of athletes and wanted to spend time with someone who had as little in common as possible with the egotistical chicken farmer.

Ted considered her offer. "Well, we do grow crops at our house, but city ordinances prevent us from owning any kind of livestock. Does that sound acceptable?"

"Umm...do you like football or not?"

"I do not."

"Then it sounds perfect! So, what do people who don't do sports do at night?"

Backgammon flitted through his mind again, but he quickly dismissed the idea. There was a possibility Brittany might consider it too much like football. Thinking back to his only real-life experience with peer-focused recreation, he asked, "Do you enjoy virtual reality games?"

Brittany wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, I hate those things. One time I played one of those with Kevvy--that _jerk_!--and he started hitting on another girl while I was right there!"

"Oh, dear. I didn't realize that you weren't supposed to hit your opponents in those games!" He thought back to his many swordfights with Robert and his friends and wondered if that had anything to do with his loss of popularity. "Then how about eating pizza? I recently discovered something called processed cheese that I think you might enjoy."

She shook her head. "I eat pizza all the time. I want to try something _different_!"

"I see." Ted was about to ask her if she was interested in viola da gamba music when the bell rang, signaling that classes were going to start soon. "Why don't we meet here after school and decide?"

"Okay. See you later, uh...Jerry!" Brittany hurried off toward her first class.

Ted turned toward his own homeroom, lost in thought. _I need to come up with an acceptable alternative to sports-themed activities. Of all the possible activities that exist in any known culture, past or present, sports make up a small minority. Just on a statistical level, this should be a very simple task. And yet I don't have even the remotest idea of where to start._

  
  


He still hadn't thought of any good ideas by lunchtime, so he ate his eggplant parmesan and drank his tofu smoothie quickly and spent the rest of the lunch period in the library. After a fruitless search through the encyclopedia, the dictionary, the World Almanac, several issues of National Geographic, and an engrossing picture book about bears having a tea party, Ted finally turned to the phone book.

First he looked under "Entertainment." He noticed several listings for "Entertainment, Adult" but couldn't find anything for "Entertainment, Teenager." Then he noticed some of the photos in the advertisements on that page and decided that while the prospect seemed strangely tempting, somehow he sensed that Brittany would not be interested in that particular type of entertainment.

Next he looked under "Recreation." Most of the listings there seemed to be related to sports: pool halls, bowling alleys, and even an intriguing place called a "paintball jungle" that he hoped to visit one day. He sighed, disappointed. _I need an_ alternative _to sports._

He looked back at the phone book. _Hmmm._ Figuring it was worth a try, he looked under "Alternative." There he found a listing for "Alternative Music Clubs" and noticed a small ad for a place called "The Zon."

_I enjoy music, and Brittany enjoys alternatives. This is perfect!_

  
  


"Hello, we're Mystik Spiral. But we might change our name."

Ted found himself bouncing slightly on his feet with anticipation as the bandleader introduced the band. According to the tattoo on his arm, the young man was a very high-ranking Maori. _Perhaps they'll be performing some traditional Maori chants. Mom and Dad will be so jealous!_

He looked around at the crowd that surrounded him, searching for any sign of Brittany. _If she doesn't come back from the bathroom soon, she's going to miss the indigenous folk music._

Ted was glad when Brittany had agreed to come to the Zon with him, but it had been a shock when she'd met him at the club's entrance with black hair instead of the blond hair she'd had earlier that day. _Do all teenage girls have variable hair color? Does it change based on one's mood, or is this the type of thing one alters based on time of day and the formality of the occasion?_

His attention was drawn back to the stage as the band started to play. "I'm glad you're happy watching my pain, burning crop circles on my soul's waves of grain. We had no love scene but you've cut to the chase! You're chopping off my nose to spite my face. Ow, my nose! Ow, my face! Ow, my nose! Ow, my face!"

_I can't say that their music seems typical of the Maori culture. Perhaps the chant's meaning got shifted a little in translation. Or at least, I hope it did._

Still, it was a pleasant surprise to find that hearing music in a public venue was very different from listening to it on the homemade phonograph. _For one thing, live music doesn't skip when the albums get worn out. For another, I'm encountering all kinds of new and unexpected aromas amongst the audience._

The song ended, and a lone voice in the crowd suddenly shouted "Burger! Get! Get burger!" into the silence.

Ted gasped in wonder. _What a masterful example of avant-garde songwriting! This is almost as exhilarating as the day I discovered John Cage!_

He was still contemplating the unexpected brilliance of the band when Brittany returned, looking worried but purposeful.

"Welcome back!" he greeted her. "You missed a fascinating song, but perhaps the band will play it again for us the next time we come here."

"'Next time'!" she cried. "I'm never coming back to this place again! The music is all angry, the bathrooms are all gross, and the people are all getting rashes!"

"Rashes?" Ted asked. "Oh! I see the confusion. Actually, that thing on the singer's arm is a traditional Maori tattoo. I could explain the cultural--"

"I don't care!" she interrupted. "I need to find somebody and give them a message because I have to hold up my end of the deal. And then I am _leaving_!"

As she walked away, Ted noticed that her hair was beginning to drip onto the floor. He almost stopped her to point it out, but then it occurred to him that maybe it was supposed to do that. After all, it wouldn't be the first time that night he'd foolishly mistaken deeply profound experimental performance art for poor quality.

  
  


The next morning at school, Ted noticed Brittany in the hall with her suitor who cultivated small poultry. He started to walk toward her, intending to ask her if she'd enjoyed her evening of non-sports activities.

As he approached, Brittany looked in his direction but didn't smile or greet him in any way. Instead, she cried "Eep!" and bolted in the other direction down the hallway, dragging the confused fowl rancher behind her.

Ted sighed. It seemed he had become invisible to her once again. _And her hair has changed color again, this time to gray. Could she be aging rapidly for some reason? Whatever the cause, I hope she's all right._

  
  


Two days passed before Ted saw Brittany again. He was craving some saturated fats and refined carbohydrates, so he went to Pizza King after school.

Shortly after entering the restaurant, he heard a familiar voice ask, "Brain fever?"

He looked over at a nearby booth and recognized Jodie Landon, who was on the yearbook staff with him. He also saw Brittany, who replied, "Yeah. Doesn't that sound serious?"

_Brittany has brain fever?_ Ted thought in alarm. _The terminology is a bit out-of-date, but that must mean she's suffering from some type of inflammation of the brain. Could this be related to her quickly-changing hair color? Or does it have something to do with that rash she mentioned at the Zon? She seems healthy, but who knows how serious her condition may be?_

"You get the scalpel," suggested a young man sitting with the girls. "We can use my dad's barn as an operating room."

_Oh, dear!_ Ted was frozen in shock, horrified by the idea of performing such a delicate operation as brain surgery in someone's barn.

"Your dad doesn't have a barn," Brittany pointed out.

Relief washed over Ted. He turned to leave, his appetite now gone. As he left, he heard a voice he recognized as the rooster breeder tell the other boy, "We could use your basement."

Ted stopped, one hand on the door. _This is terrible! I can't let this happen!_ He thought about his options, and decided that the best course of action would be to alert the proper authorities.

  
  


"So let me get this straight," said the person on the other end of the line. "Some kid has a fever--"

"-- _brain_ fever--" Ted corrected.

"--uh huh. And three other kids are planning to perform surgery on her in a basement?"

"Well, they were going to use a barn, but there wasn't one available."

There was a long pause. "Very funny, sir."

"I'm being quite serious!" Ted insisted. "I'm certain none of them has advanced medical training of any kind. In fact, I'm pretty sure one of them breeds chickens for a living!"

The other person let out a very annoyed sigh. "Sir, I don't know what you're trying to pull here, but unless you have an emergency related to animal control, then I'm going to disconnect this call."

"But I've tried all the other emergency numbers: police, fire department, poison control, and even the road conditions hotline. No one else would help and, in fact, most of them seemed to think I was playing some sort of practical joke. The Department of Public Works was particularly rude about it!" He pleaded, "Something must be done to save this poor girl's brain from amateur surgery!"

"Unless the surgery is going to be performed by a rabid chipmunk, you'll have to call someone else." There was a click as the line disconnected.

He hung up the school pay phone and put away the phone book. _These things haven't been nearly as useful as I thought they might be,_ he thought. _It seems I must take matters into my own hands._

  
  


Ted spent the rest of the afternoon searching for Brittany, Jodie, the boy with the nonexistent barn, or the poultry expert. He checked to see if there were any chicken farms in the area, but came up empty. Just as he was about to give up and look into sending flowers and a sympathy card to Brittany's parents, he saw the rooster cultivator himself getting out of a Jeep outside Lackluster Video.

"Excuse me!" he cried, hoping desperately that he would be visible to the other boy. "I have to stop you from making a terrible mistake!"

The breeder of small fowl looked at him in surprise, but then shook his head with a grin. "Naw," he replied, holding up a few videos. "I remembered to rewind them this time!"

"I mean the surgery you want to perform," Ted explained as he walked up to him. "I overheard what you and your friends are intending to do, and I must warn you that it is absolutely unconscionable!"

"Hey, thanks!" the other boy said obliviously. "I helped come up with the idea!"

"I don't think you understand," Ted insisted. "I'm referring to your planned brain surgery!"

"Nah, we're not going to do brain surgery," Kevin assured him.

"Oh, what a relief!"

"We're just going to cut open her brain and take all the fever out."

"What?!" Ted cried. "But that's exactly--I mean--" He stopped and took a few calming breaths. "I have no doubt you and your friends have good intentions, but without any education, experience, or qualifications, this is a plan fraught with peril. You'd be taking an innocent girl's life in your hands!"

The poultry rancher stared at Ted with an expression that, if Ted didn't know better, would suggest that he didn't understand what he'd just been told. Then he grinned again. "Yeah, I've got really good hands. My dad says my throwing arm is awesome, too!"

Ted looked the boy in the eyes. "Please promise me you'll do the right thing."

The other boy frowned in confusion at first, but then looked down at the movies that were still in his hand. His eyes lit up with sudden understanding and he nodded eagerly. "Oh, right." He tossed the videos into the nearby return slot. "No problem!"

With a relieved sigh, Ted said, "I'm glad to hear it. Now you'd better go find your friends and tell them what I said."

"Sure," the boy replied. "I bet they'll all be in Mack Daddy's basement by now!"

Ted gasped at the thought that the surgery might be taking place at that very moment. "Go, then!" he cried, and the other boy climbed back into the Jeep and sped away. Ted called after him, "Get to that basement quickly! The fate of a girl with inflamed cerebral tissue rests on your shoulders, brave chicken farmer!"

Ted wasn't sure why all those passersby were looking at him so strangely, but he assured them that the brain surgery wasn't going to happen after all. They seemed even more confused by this, and a few backed away from him when he tried to explain, so he gave up and went home.

  
  


After several days of worrying, Ted spotted Brittany in the hallway again. Her hair had returned to its former blond color, which he hoped was a sign that she was recovering from her illness.

"Brittany!" he called out, hurrying over to greet her.

"Shhhh!" she hissed, glancing around the hallway as if looking for someone. "We don't know each other, okay?"

Ted was confused. "But we _do_ know--oh! Is this a side effect of your recent illness? Perhaps your memory has been damaged in some way." He smiled. "You see, last week you and I went to a club known as 'The Zon,' and...."

"I _know_!" Brittany squeaked angrily. "I was there! But it was just one night and it didn't mean anything to me and I _love_ Kevvy even if he's sometimes a big jerk and from now on as far as I'm concerned there's no such person as Terry or Jerry or whoever you are!"

"Well, that's technically true," Ted admitted. "But if you'll just--"

Brittany shook her head so hard her ponytails whipped the sides of her face. "Nuh-uh. I don't want to see you ever again!"

As she stormed off, Ted shrugged. "So that's back to normal, anyway."


	3. Tedieval Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted jumps into the school's Medieval fair with enthusiasm...but can an evening of jousting, fortune telling, and theater make him forget his recent brush with death?

"Wow, look at this place!"

The high-pitched voice interrupted Ted's concentration as he scanned the school library shelves in an unsuccessful search for cookbooks that included gum recipes.

"I wonder what it is," the unseen person continued. After a moment's thought, he realized the voice belonged to Brittany.

He peeked around a shelf and saw that she had just come in with her gentleman friend, who replied, "I think it's the library, babe."

Apparently the two of them found the thought of educational institutions very romantic, as the revelation caused them to express their appreciation for each other in a very physical and enthusiastic manner. Ted began to feel like he was intruding, and backed out of view to give them some privacy. As he did so, he heard someone else leave the library. He was just thinking he should do the same when the world collapsed around him in an explosion of noise and pain.

  
  


Although Ted was back in school the next day with superficial injuries--mostly scratches and bruises--he couldn't stop shaking every time he thought about the library roof caving in on top of him. Sitting in Mr. DeMartino's class that morning, he jumped in terror every time the teacher raised his voice...which was very, very often. Ted was extremely relieved when Ms. Li walked in and interrupted the lecture.

"Good morning, young people! It is my sad duty to announce that the library will be closed until further notice."

Ted grabbed the sides of his desk to force himself not to leap up and run out of the room at the mention of the library.

Ms. Li continued, "In order to raise money for the repairs, Lawndale High will be presenting a Medieval fair to simulate life in the Middle Ages."

The thought of a Medieval fair instantly distracted Ted from his panic attack. _Life in the Middle Ages? I suppose we could synthesize the bubonic plague in science class, but could we get government approval? And how will our positions in the feudal system be assigned? Oh dear! Will I have to start bathing less often?_ He watched the principal and listened intently, waiting for clarification.

"Volunteers are desperately needed," she was saying. "Those who--"

"Excuse me, Ms. Li?" Ted called out. "I'd like to volunteer to be a gong farmer!"

She faltered in her speech and blinked at him a few times. "A...a what?"

"A gong farmer." Ms. Li was acting as if she wasn't familiar with the phrase, so Ted decided to help jog her memory. "The person who would dig out human excrement from under the privies and dispose of it."

The few students in his class who understood the word "excrement" let out cries of "Ewww!" and "Gross!" but Ted just shrugged. "It paid very well! Although the night hours and social ostracization were probably a bit of a downside." He looked back at Ms. Li. "So what do you think?"

She looked slightly ill. "Er...Mr. DeWitt-Clinton, although your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated, perhaps you might consider trying out for the play instead? I believe Mr. O'Neill is organizing a performance of 'The Knight's Tale' from the _Canterbury Tales_."

As the principal hurried out the door, Ted considered the idea. _I've loved Chaucer since I was eight years old. And the opportunity to learn a new skill by acting in a public performance, too? This is going to be the best Medieval fair Lawndale High has ever had!_

  
  


"Whilom, as olde stories tellen us, Ther was a duc that highte Theseus; Of Atthenes he was lord and governour, And in his tyme swich a conquerour, That gretter was ther noon under the sonne."

There was silence in the auditorium as Ted paused to take a breath. Before he could begin reciting the rest, Mr. O'Neill interrupted. "That was...very interesting, Tad."

"Ted," he cheerfully corrected.

"Right. But, um, what was that?"

"The opening to 'The Knight's Tale,' of course." His smile faded as he saw the blank faces all staring up at him. "I thought I had it memorized correctly, but perhaps I made an error? I suppose my Middle English may not be as good as it could be."

"It's...fine. I think." Mr. O'Neill looked confused and a little nervous. "But I think...perhaps...um...."

Ted studied the teacher's body language for a moment. "I'm not getting the part, am I?" he asked.

Mr. O'Neill gave him a relieved smile. "No. But thanks for trying out!"

Walking off the stage, Ted sighed. _I guess I'm not cut out for an acting career. Which might be just as well, if what my parents have to say about the entertainment industry is true._ He shuddered. _I wonder if soul removal is something they do all at once, or if it's a gradual process._

  
  


Even though he would be neither a gong farmer nor a soulless thespian, Ted arrived at the school that evening before the Medieval fair even began. He was full of excitement until he looked over and saw the school library, surrounded by construction barricades and wreckage. He even thought he saw another piece of the roof tumble to the ground.

Instantly he began to tremble and found he couldn't make himself stop. His brain was full of images of falling rubble and crashing sounds. He was sure he could hear the screaming of other victims being crushed under the weight--

_No, hold on. Those are happy screams. It's just children running around, enjoying themselves._

Ted's mind cleared. Forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, he decided he needed to find something to distract himself.

He looked around and saw a purple tent with a woman dressed as a fortune teller inside. The advertized price was $2 for girls and $20 for boys, and Ted reasoned that the boys' fortunes must therefore be more accurate. He entered and paid.

The fortune teller looked up as he sat down in the empty chair, and he recognized his science teacher, Ms. Barch. "Oh! I didn't realize that you were also trained in the art of divination! It seems rather at odds with your career in the scientific field, doesn't it?"

"Shut up," she replied with a glare.

Ted shut up. He belatedly remembered that Ms. Barch was very short-tempered, particularly when reminded of her ex-husband. He'd once tried to work out exactly which particular things reminded her of him, but so far he'd been unable to narrow down the list from his starting point of "everything" and "Y chromosomes" underlined three times.

Keeping her eyes on him, Ms. Barch leaned over her crystal ball (Ted saw it had a thrift store price tag on the bottom, but decided not to mention it). "I see brutality, ignorance, and cruelty. I see the strong taking advantage of the weak. I see--"

"Huh?" Ted blinked in confusion before looking behind him at the Medieval fair. "Oh! You mean the Middle Ages. But I think you're supposed to be telling me the future, and this is all the present." He stopped to consider the situation. "Well, technically I suppose it's also the past. Although I have some serious doubts about the authenticity of--"

"Shut up."

Ted shut up again, but this time Ms. Barch just folded her arms and glared at him until he got up and left.

As he walked out of the tent, he was nearly knocked off his feet by a couple of young boys who were shrieking loudly and pummeling each other as they ran. The shock of the near-miss, combined with the loud noise and violence, forced Ted's memory of the library incident back into his thoughts. He staggered forward, breathing quickly and looking for a new distraction to calm his nerves.

Suddenly he found himself face to face with a banner that read "JOUST WITH THE BLACK KNIGHT."

"Jousting!" he cried. "I've always wanted to try that!" Between reading old manuscripts and playing the virtual reality games at the arcade, Ted had mastered swordplay, but jousting was something he'd never had the opportunity to practice. He got in line, signed a waiver, and soon found himself entering the jousting area.

"Excuse me?" he called. "I have some issues with the realism of this activity. I'm fairly certain Medieval knights didn't wear roller skates. And this lance appears to be made of plastic. And it has foam cushioning on the end!"

"What an unex _pect_ ed surprise!" the black knight said, lifting his visor to reveal the face of Mr. DeMartino. "One of the few _students_ at this school who isn't completely _brain dead_!"

"Oh, hello!" Ted greeted him cheerfully. Do you know if they have any steel lances left?"

Mr. DeMartino chuckled. "I'm afraid _not_ , Mr. DeWitt-Clinton. But don't worry--as one of my _better_ students, I intend to go _easy_ on you!" He clapped the visor back down and began to skate forward.

Ted shrugged and rolled forward as well, holding the lance in the position he'd practiced at home many times. He kept his mind on all of the techniques and advice he'd uncovered in his research. Upon reaching Mr. DeMartino he aimed, drew his arm back, and lunged his lance forward in a quick, fluid motion.

Yelping in surprise, Mr. DeMartino flew backwards and landed with his legs in the air. "Ooof," he grunted as his back hit the ground. After a few moments he carefully got back on his feet.

"That was fun!" Ted cried, waving the plastic lance in the air.

Mr. DeMartino raised his visor. "You seem to be as skilled at _jousting_ as you are at answering questions in _class_ ," he conceded. "It appears I under _estimated_ \--ack!" He was cut off when Ted charged forward again and drove the lance into the teacher's abdomen with full force. He fell over backwards again, and didn't move for almost a minute.

The thought occurred to Ted that maybe he'd hit him just a tiny bit too hard. _But_ , he reasoned, _in the classroom he always demands high quality from his students. And he seems so disappointed when anyone falls short of his expectations! I wouldn't want to upset him by putting in only a mediocre effort._

At last Mr. DeMartino staggered back upright. "Well done," he wheezed, his words barely audible. "Let's give...others...chance to try...." Still gasping for air, he skated unsteadily to the side of the stage and began whimpering softly.

"Oh. I suppose you have a point," Ted replied. Raising his lance in salute, he turned and left to find something new to try.

As he walked through the fair, he heard someone playing music and looked around to see where it was coming from. It didn't take long to locate the red-haired boy in the garish jester's costume. He appeared to be playing a lute and singing to an increasingly disgusted-looking girl.

Ted could only hear bits and pieces of the song, but as he got closer he was able to catch some of the chorus: "I am a minstrel; my name is Sir Chuck / Come here, my lady, and...."

Ted wasn't quite able to make out the rest of the line, but the girl apparently found his musicianship lacking--she slapped him hard across the face and stalked away.

_Huh. I guess he must not have been able to come up with a good rhyme for "Chuck."_

He turned his attention the other way, where he saw a Ferris wheel. _Now, this is getting silly_ , Ted thought in surprise. _The modern Ferris wheel as we know it was invented barely over a century ago. There's no way this is even remotely authentic!_

He began to make his way over there to complain when the operator caught his eye. He immediately recognized him as the virtual reality game attendant at the arcade. His objections forgotten, he raced over to greet him.

"Do you remember me?" he asked excitedly.

"Dude. You come to the arcade, like, three times a week. _Yeah_ , I remember you," the young man replied, rolling his eyes. "You getting on or what?" He jerked a thumb behind him toward the Ferris wheel.

"I actually was a little concerned about the appropriateness of having modern technology at a Medieval Fair, which is why I came over here in the first place." He looked up at the wheel, which from close up actually looked like fun. "Well, why not?" He paid the operator and took a seat in the basket.

Just before the ride started, another boy got into the basket with him. Ted recognized him as one of the more popular boys in his grade, although he couldn't immediately recall his name. The boy looked very nervous, constantly looking around and fidgeting.

"Good evening," Ted greeted the boy politely. "I'm sure this structure is quite safe, as I have no reason to think it was actually built during the Middle Ages. So you have no cause to be worried."

"It's not that," the boy replied, his voice shaking and cracking as he spoke. "I'm looking for someone." Suddenly he buried his face in his hands and cried, "Stupid! I'm so, so stupid!"

Ted awkwardly patted the boy's shoulder. "It's not stupid to look for people. How else would you find them?" He suddenly smiled. "And you found me! Well done! See? You're actually quite good at this."

The boy looked up at him in confusion, but before he could reply the Ferris wheel began to turn. As their basket rose into the air he leaned forward eagerly and scanned the crowd. "There's this girl I was hoping I'd see today. We went on a date the other night and I want to ask her out again because I really _really_ like her but I don't know if she's interested and I'm afraid that if I call her right away she'll think I'm desperate!"

He rattled off the words at such a rapid pace Ted was a little worried he wasn't taking in enough oxygen as he spoke. Ted opened his mouth to reply, but didn't get a chance.

"So I thought I'd look for her here and try to, you know, casually bump into her or something and see if she's doing anything after but oh no what if she thinks I'm stalking her or whatever and it scares her off?"

Ted nodded sympathetically. "I--"

"Do you think I came on too strong on our date? I asked her a lot of questions about herself and I laughed at all her jokes and complimented her outfit, but maybe I paid too much attention to her, you know? Like she thinks I'm some kind of obsessed freak?"

"Well--"

"I just wish I knew what to do! How do I get her to be interested in me?" He turned to look at Ted, who was keeping his mouth shut after being interrupted so many times. "Well, are you going to help me or not?"

Before he could be silenced by another verbal barrage, Ted quickly replied, "You should completely ignore her."

The boy stared at him. " _What?_ "

Seeing that he now had his full attention, Ted elaborated. "Shortly after I started attending this school, I became very popular for a short time. Quite a few of my fellow students wanted to spend time with me. At the time I didn't really think much about it until one day, when they all just...stopped seeing me. It was like I was invisible. Suddenly, all those people I'd been taking for granted became completely fascinating to me. It was a mystery that I just had to solve! So if it happened to me, I don't see why it wouldn't happen to this girl you're interested in."

Intrigued, the boy leaned back and thought about his words. "So...if I pretend I don't see her, she'll want to know why and I'll become irresistible to her? Will that really work?"

Ted nodded. "I can say from personal experience that it will definitely work."

The boy's face lit up as the Ferris wheel ride came to an end. "Wow, I'm so glad I talked to you!" He started to get out of the basket as it stopped, then turned back. "Oh, and thanks. My name's Bret Strand, by the way."

_What now?_ Ted wondered as he left the Ferris wheel. _Oh! I know what would be fun!_

  
  


"Ah, Mr. DeWitt-Clinton! I see you've decided to try your luck a _gain_! Well, this time I'm going to give you a _real_ challenge!" Mr. DeMartino was smiling, but his voice was shaky.

The teacher lowered his visor, raised his lance, and began skating toward Ted as fast as he could. He pulled his arm back as he approached and prepared to thrust the lance forward...only to find himself sprawled on his back again, short of breath from having the wind knocked out of him. Ted's face appeared above him, smiling down. "I hate to complain, sir, but I'm really going to have to ask you to make it a little harder than that. It's just not as entertaining when you make it this easy for me."

Mr. DeMartino's only response was a quiet, shuddering groan.

Afterwards, Ted stepped out of the jousting area and saw two young boys running toward him. They were holding plastic lances of their own, as well as plastic shields. Before he could react, the boys began hitting him with the lances and screaming, "Burn the heretic! Burn the heretic!" at the top of their lungs. The blows and shouting sent Ted's mind racing back to the day the library roof collapsed and he staggered to his knees, gasping.

"Rawrrrr!"

As abruptly as it began, the attack ended. Ted looked up in time to see the boys chase after a young man in a green dragon costume, who was still roaring as he led them away.

Gradually Ted's heart rate slowed down and he managed to calm himself again. "Well," he told himself weakly, "it's not every day that a dragon saves someone in distress from knights."

"That's Mack for you." Ted stood up and turned to see his fellow yearbook staff member, Jodie Landon, sitting behind an information booth. "Always ready to leap to someone's defense," she continued, then winced as Mack suffered a particularly intense blow from one of the boys. "Even when it's not the smartest idea."

Ted came over to the booth. "Hello, Jodie! How are you this evening?"

"Fine, thanks." She looked at him warily. "But how are _you_? I saw your face when those kids came after you. You looked terrified. Are you okay?"

He sighed. "Not exactly," he replied.

"Anything I can help with?" she asked.

Ted smiled at her. "Hey, good idea! This is an information booth, after all. Can you tell me how to cope with the aftermath of my recent ordeal during the library disaster? Ever since the roof collapsed on me, I've been going through a very difficult time. In addition to my recurring emotional distress, I've been experiencing physical symptoms like rapid heart rate, extreme dizziness, tremors, and shortness of breath. What do you recommend?"

She blinked at him. "I'm not really sure that's the kind of information I'm qualified to offer," she said slowly.

"I'll take anything you can give me," Ted pleaded.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples for a minute, thinking. "Okay, look," she began. "I haven't gone through anything like what you did, but I do know a thing or two about stress and anxiety. All I can tell you is what works for me: take things one moment at a time. If you start to feel overwhelmed...."

"...take a few minutes to calm down and relax?" Ted guessed.

Jodie let out a sharp bark of laughter. "If I ever have time to try that, I'll let you know how it works," she replied. "What I was going to say is, if you start to feel overwhelmed just ignore it and work even harder. If you keep yourself busy, you'll be able to just stay in the moment and you won't have time to be upset."

"I see," Ted said. "Well, thanks, anyway."

She shrugged. "Sorry I couldn't be more helpful. This information booth is really meant to be geared more toward facts about the Middle Ages, though."

His eyes lit up. "Hey, now that you mention it, there are a few concerns I have relating to this fair and the authenticity of its portrayal of the Medieval Era. Perhaps you'd like to discuss some of the more glaring anachronisms? I've actually put together a fairly sizeable list, but to start I'll point out that...."

  
  


Twenty minutes later, Jodie held up a hand. "Um, did you know that the play is about to start? If you don't hurry, you might miss it."

"I'd forgotten about the play!" Ted glanced at his watch and jumped in surprise. "Thanks! I'd better hurry!"

"No problem," she replied, waving with relief as he hurried away.

Entering the auditorium, Ted accepted his turkey leg and sat down to enjoy the performance. The curtain went up and Ted watched as a red-haired girl in a pink gown performed what appeared to be an odd impersonation of Mr. DeMartino. _She's doing a pretty good job with his strange inflections_ , Ted thought, _but without the eyeball effect it just isn't convincing._ He settled into his seat, figuring this must be some kind of pre-show entertainment.

Before long another boy appeared onstage and began reciting what Ted recognized as a modernization of "The Pardoner's Tale." _Oh!_ he realized with a start. _No wonder I didn't get the part! I was auditioning for the wrong story!_

"Stop!" the girl suddenly screeched, and the audience started to laugh. Ted didn't understand the joke, but before he could worry about it a man stood up and began yelling at everyone.

_I definitely don't remember this from the_ Canterbury Tales _!_ Apparently the rest of the audience didn't appreciate the interruption, either, because someone threw their turkey leg at him. More chunks of poultry quickly followed, and as the food rained down Ted's immediate reaction was to panic. He was once again trapped in a building full of chaos and violence.

This time, however, he reminded himself of Jodie's advice: stay in the moment. He looked at the turkey leg he was still holding and decided to join in the fun. He hauled back and launched the meat high into the air, where it sailed in a perfect parabolic arc before neatly whacking the actress's hat off her head.

"Of course!" Ted said to himself. "This must be a performance with audience participation!" He began snatching turkey legs out of other people's hands and throwing them in all directions.

As the food fight ran out of ammunition and came to an end, Ted felt exhilarated. _I came to the brink of disaster again and this time I was victorious!_ he thought, panting and grinning at everyone. _Hey, maybe that's it--having blows rain down on you is just part of life as a high school student!_

The play seemed to be over, so Ted made his way to the exit. _And speaking of which...._

  
  


"Oh, _no_. No, no, no, no! Please, God, not him. Anyone but _him_!"

Ted watched in surprise as Mr. DeMartino began to run in the opposite direction--an especially amusing feat given he was still wearing roller skates.

"Don't worry!" he called after the rapidly-retreating teacher. "I think I've figured out what I was doing wrong before, so it should actually be a real challenge for you this time!"


	4. Physical Teducation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted decides to make a name for himself by excelling at a sport...just as soon as he figures out which sport that might be.

"Lane Extends Track Team Winning Streak!" The headline leaped out at Ted when he plucked the Saturday morning paper out of the corn. The article below said something about the high school track team winning meets, but his attention was entirely absorbed by the photograph.

In the middle of the picture was a girl who looked very happy, surrounded by other people who were smiling, cheering, and above all _looking_ at her. She wasn't invisible. She wasn't ignored. She was being _noticed_ by her peers!

Ted brought the paper inside and sat down on the pinewood couch to look at it more carefully. From what he could gather from the article, the girl was involved in some kind of athletic competition in which her performance had exceeded that of the other participants. _And for that she's become famous!_ Ted stared at the photograph again in awe.

_That could be me_ , he realized with growing hope. _Perhaps I could enroll in some kind of sport and get my name in the newspaper! And then everyone at school would notice_ me _!_

He set the paper aside for his parents to look at later. They always loved to start their day by exclaiming over the corruption and moral decay that filled every page, including the comics. He, on the other hand, had important work ahead of him.

Finding a sheet of 100% recycled paper and an eco-friendly pen, he began his list: "Athletic Activities with the Potential for Glory."

_It's the perfect plan_ , he told himself as he started writing down possibilities. _I can't think of any flaw that would prevent me from succeeding!_

  
  


Ted put his plan into motion the following Monday before school. He'd concluded that it would be best not to tell his parents about his decision because, while he didn't recall them making any specific objections to sports, he knew from experience that they tended to oppose things that were fun.

"You can go in now," the receptionist told Ted, interrupting his fantasies of fame and adoration. He stood up and entered the principal's office, list in hand.

"May I help you?" Ms. Li asked him. She was cheerfully polishing the school's new track trophy.

"Good morning," Ted greeted her. "I was hoping to join one of the school's sports-related extracurricular activities."

"Excellent!" Ms. Li said, her smile widening even further. "Which one did you have in mind?"

Ted sat down and consulted his list. "Well, my first choice would be Medieval sword-fighting. Is there an opening on that team?"

The principal's smile didn't alter, but her brow furrowed very slightly. "Actually, we don't have a Medieval sword-fighting team here."

"Ah." He looked at his list again. "Then how about competitive virtual reality gaming?"

"No, I'm afraid we don't have that, either."

"Hmm. Perhaps roller jousting? I tried that at the fair not too long ago and--" He stopped, seeing Ms. Li shake her head. "Um...snooker?"

"No."

"Luge racing?"

"Not even close."

"Quidditch?"

"Imaginary."

Ted peered at his list one last time. "I suppose there aren't any grip war tournaments at this school, either?"

"You suppose correctly." Ms. Li's smile was gone, and now she was looking at Ted with an expression somewhere in between curiosity and alarm.

Crumpling up his list, Ted stood up and sighed. "It seems I need to brainstorm some new ideas. I've been reading a lot about chariot racing, for example, and--"

Ms. Li opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Here is a list of the school's official sports teams." She held it out to him. "Please, _please_ take a look at it."

Ted took the list and nodded. "Thanks! This will make my quest much easier!"

"Quest?" Ms. Li asked worriedly, but Ted was already out the door.

  
  


Ted's shoes squeaked on the gym floor as he shifted his weight, eager to participate in this new game. _Volleyball_ , he mused. _It's such a pleasant-sounding name._

A player on his side of the net tossed the ball up in the air and then slammed it forward, driving it over the net and into the opposite team's side.

_I especially like the internal rhyme of it. It just rolls off your tongue!_

Someone on the other team bumped the ball up in the air, and another player popped it up again, close to the net.

Out loud Ted began to murmur, "Volleyball. Volleyball. Volleyball. VolleyballVolleyballVolleyball."

On the other side of the net, a player spiked the ball hard over the net. Still chanting the word "volleyball," Ted happily watched as it sailed right by him, bouncing off the floor and rolling away.

"What the hell?" demanded one of his teammates. "Why didn't you return the ball?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Ted exclaimed. He trotted over to the ball, picked it up, and carried it over to the teammate. "Here you are," he said, handing it over.

"I meant you need to _move_ when the ball comes to you!" the teammate grumbled, swinging his arms around to illustrate the point.

"That's a very good idea! Thank you for the suggestion." Still smiling, Ted turned his attention back to the tryout game.

The ball flew back and forth over the net a few times before it hurtled toward Ted again. Happy to finally be able to put the advice into practice, he reached his arm out a few inches away from his body, missing the ball by at least a foot. The other players on his team glared at him.

"Was that right?" Ted asked them. "Next time should I try moving both arms, do you think?"

  
  


Ted eagerly flipped through the Lawndale Sun-Herald the next morning, but found nothing about his volleyball audition. Oddly, when he'd asked the team captain if he'd made the team, he had just stared at him for awhile and then laughed. Ted assumed that was a good sign--people laughed when they were happy, and that meant Ted's performance had made the team captain happy, right?

And yet no one had gotten in touch with him about joining the team and the newspaper hadn't published any articles about him.

_Perhaps I should have researched the sport a little before I tried out_ , Ted wondered. _Well, I won't make that mistake this time with_ \--he checked the list Ms. Li had given him-- _wrestling!_

  
  


It had taken several hours of study at the public library, but by the end of it Ted felt ready for his next attempt. The books and periodicals hadn't been of much help, but then he stumbled across some videos online and suddenly everything fell into place.

_I think I'm really going to like wrestling_ , he thought as he walked into the gym after school. _It's come an awfully long way from the days of Ancient Greece. Which is good, because I'd look pretty silly coming in here nude!_

" _What_ are you _wearing_?" demanded a boy wearing a simple blue and yellow wrestling singlet. The rest of the team either snickered or sneered at Ted.

Ted defensively put a hand to his outfit and frowned. "I worked very hard on this!" he protested. And he had indeed made every piece of his costume: from the bright orange lucha mask down to the spiked knee-length boots, not to mention the metal-studded leather gloves and neon green wrestling trunks. He'd even torn apart one of his pillows to make the feather boa, which was currently the only thing covering his bare chest.

He'd stayed up almost all night putting it together, but the other boys just stared at him with contempt.

"For my nickname I was thinking I might go by 'Professor Aggressor,'" Ted continued, then looked around with concern. "Or is that one already taken? Because I was also thinking maybe--"

"Look, if you're not going to take this seriously...." one of the boys muttered.

"I'm taking it very seriously!" Ted insisted. "I researched this subject extensively, in fact!" He thought about it. "Oh, I see what you mean. I should also have created a colorful persona to make the competition more entertaining, right?"

"This is real high school wrestling, not WWE!" another boy yelled. "Get the hell out!"

The others were nodding in agreement, so Ted shrugged and walked away. _I didn't even get a chance to hit anyone with a chair_ , he thought sadly.

  
  


This time Ted decided not to wait to see if he was mentioned in the newspaper but instead went straight to the office of the Lawndale Lowdown, the school newspaper. _Maybe I need to start small and work my way up to Sports Illustrated._

A very frazzled Jodie Landon had her back to him, flipping frantically through several pages of articles when he came in.

"Good afternoon, Jodie!" Ted greeted her. "I would like to place an order for a front-page article about my athletic exploits at Lawndale High. Above the fold would be preferable, but anything with an eye-catching headline will be fine."

"That's really not how the newspaper works, Ted," Jodie said in that extra-patient voice she always seemed to get when she talked to him.

"Do you mean I should write the article myself? I hadn't thought of that, but you make a good point. Should I go for a human interest angle or more of a sports hero type of thing?"

Jodie finally turned around. "Ted, I'm sorry but-- _what_ are you _wearing_?"

Ted looked down at himself and wondered if maybe he should have changed out of his wrestling costume first. "Er...when I'm dressed like this I believe you're supposed to call me Professor Aggressor."

  
  


Having failed to achieve fame with his first two attempts, Ted quickly moved on to the next item on the list. "Oh!" he said in delight. "I do have some familiarity with this sport, so I should have no trouble at all joining this team!"

  
  


Ted moved with grace and confidence, pleased that for once his background seemed to be an asset rather than a liability. _It was a struggle carrying the phonograph all the way here, but it was definitely worth it!_

Keeping his focus on the viola da gamba music as it played, Ted continued to dance the minuet with an imaginary partner. When he was finished, he turned to the Lawndale High Dance Club and grinned. "How was that? I also know the waltz and the foxtrot."

The others stared at him in disbelief. Finally one of the group spoke up. "You buggin'? That ain't even close to the kind of moves we bust in this crib."

"Really?" Ted asked after taking a moment to interpret what he'd just said. "So are you thinking more of a Latin style? My rumba is a bit shaky but I could do a passable cha-cha if you'd like."

"You down with hip-hop, dawg?" another student asked.

Ted smiled and tilted his head curiously. "Hip-hop! What a fun phrase. HipHopHipHopHip--"

"Hey, you dissin' us?" someone interrupted.

"Um...no?" Ted replied, judging by the tone and expression that 'dissin'" was something bad. "I'm just trying to understand this 'hip-hop' phraseology. I assume it involves hip movements and hopping up and down, though!"

"Breakin'?" one of the club members asked. "Poppin'? Lockin'?"

Ted looked at him in bemusement. "You all know a great deal of...interesting...words," he said slowly, "but I really don't have the first idea what any of them mean."

"Check this." A few of the kids stood up and began moving their bodies in abrupt maneuvers that were startlingly quick but also rhythmic. "That's hip-hop," one of them told Ted after they'd finished.

"I see!" Ted replied, grateful for the demonstration. He looked toward his phonograph and added, "I'm not sure I have any music that will fit that style of dance, though. Perhaps one of the harpsichord selections, if I alter the playing speed on the phonograph--"

"This ain't gonna fly," one of the club members said, shutting him down. "Best step off, shorty."

"Are you trying to tell me I can't join your dance troupe?" Ted asked. Everyone nodded. "Well, thank you for the opportunity!"

"Fo shizzle. Good luck with that whole...being weird thing you got goin' on, yo."

Ted grinned. "Likewise!"

  
  


After trying and failing with newspapers, Ted decided to try selling his story to a magazine instead. He got a response much sooner than expected: " _Musings_ regrets that your material is unsuitable." He turned the letter over to look at the back, then turned it around again and peered at the single line.

"Hmm. Well, it's still more of a response than I got from either _Waif_ or _Val_ ," he comforted himself. "I wonder if I should have read any of the issues before submitting my story?"

Thinking it over, he shook his head. "No. Better to move on to the next possibility." He consulted his list once again. "Oooh, basketball!"

  
  


"All right," Ted muttered to himself as he methodically dribbled the ball in preparation to making his shot. "First calculate the trajectory of the throw you're about to make...then determine the force required to reach the desired velocity...adjust for spin...compare the horizontal and vertical movement of the ball to properly calibrate the arc...and go!"

Ted crouched slightly, tensing his arm muscles before springing up and pushing up with his hands to send the ball flying.

Except there was no ball.

Glancing around, Ted realized that while he'd been computing all of the necessary figures, someone had taken advantage of his distraction to steal the ball.

"Now, that hardly seems sportsmanlike!" Ted protested. "It was clearly my turn to throw the ball at the hoop!"

"That's not how basketball works," replied the player who had taken the ball from him. "Stealing the ball is allowed in this game."

"If I can't hold onto the ball indefinitely," Ted argued, "then I can't properly prepare my throw and I run the risk of missing!"

"Go call someone who gives a crap," the player snorted.

Ted considered this for a minute. "I think I see what you're saying," he finally said. "And thank you for the advice!"

  
  


"You're talking to Bing--"

"--and the Spatula Man--"

"--on Zeeeeee-93! All right, caller, now tell us why _you're_ mental in the morning!"

Ted clutched the pay phone receiver tightly and cleared his throat before replying. "I tend to relate to the world in an intellectual capacity during most parts of the day, not just in the morning. Could you please be more specific?"

A few moments of dead air passed, then one of the DJs (Turkey Baster? Ted had already forgotten their names) let out an uproarious laugh. "Looks like we've got a real live nerd on the line today, Bing!"

"We sure do!" Boing chimed in unnecessarily.

"So, tell us, Professor Egghead--"

"That's Professor Aggressor, actually," Ted interrupted Cheese Grater. "Although I'm currently retired from wrestling."

"A brain that does sports?" Beep asked gleefully. "Now _that's_ mental in the morning!"

"I disagree," Ted replied. "I've found that sports generally require a great deal of physical effort as opposed to mental. Of course, I haven't tried every sport yet. So far in addition to wrestling I've attempted volleyball, basketball, and--"

Lemon Zester sniggered. "So you like playing with _balls_ , huh? Tell us more about that!"

"I'd be happy to elaborate! See, I've been trying to achieve a certain level of fame through athletic pursuits, but so far I've had little luck with print media. That's why I thought I'd try broadcast media instead!"

"Uh huh," said Bleep, giggling. "So when you play with balls, do you like to play by yourself or with other guys?"

Ted was beginning to suspect the two DJs weren't terribly focused on his plight. "Listen, are you two going to help me become a famous athlete or not?"

"Hey, if you wanna be a sports star in _this_ town," said Garlic Press, "then you need to go for the big dog!"

Ted glanced over the list Ms. Li had given him but saw no sports that mentioned any kind of animal, canine or otherwise. "Are you referring to greyhound racing, perhaps? Because greyhounds tend to be quite lean, rather than big."

"I mean football, the only sport that really matters in Lawndale!" Boop was starting to sound frustrated, and his cheerful persona was beginning to slip.

"Oh, I understand now. Thank you for the suggestion! Now, when do we go on the air?"

The only response was a dial tone as the DJs disconnected the call.

  
  


Ted walked onto the football field that afternoon, ready to join the team as they prepared for practice. He approached the player who seemed to be in charge, a dark-haired young man with a happy grin who looked familiar. After a moment Ted recognized him as Kevin, Brittany's boyfriend. Ted knew from past encounters that he was also a chicken farmer and an amateur brain surgeon, so it was a surprise to find that he had time for extracurricular sports on top of his agricultural and medical duties.

"Hello!" he greeted Kevin, stepping forward with his hand outstretched to shake. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm--"

Kevin turned to look at him and froze. The smile slid right off his face and the boy began to shake with fear. "Y-you're that grip who beat me at the geek contest!" he stammered, taking a few steps back.

"Um...okay, " Ted cheerfully replied. "But this time I'm here because--"

Yanking both hands out of sight behind his back, Kevin yelped, "I knew it! You're here to finish the job!" and took off in the opposite direction. He was looking over his shoulder at Ted, which meant he didn't see the little boy playing at the edge of the football field until after he'd tripped over him, sending them both sprawling. Kevin didn't look at the boy or apologize, but jumped up and kept running at full speed.

The little boy sat on the sidewalk, unhurt aside from a skinned knee, but an elderly man standing nearby waved his fist first at Kevin, then at Ted. "I saw the whole thing!" he shouted, then held up a camera and took a picture. "And now I have photographic evidence!"

Ted was still watching Kevin as he rapidly disappeared over the horizon. "--because I want to try out for the football team," he finally finished.

"The football team?" the old man yelped. "So it's a conspiracy, then! Well, we'll see about that!" Grabbing the little boy by the hand, he dragged him up the sidewalk and out of sight.

The other football players drifted off toward the locker room now that their leader had deserted them, and Ted was left alone on the field. "I give up," he finally said. "This whole sports star goal has been more trouble than it's worth, and I still have nothing to show for it."

  
  


The next morning, Ted stopped at Drugs 'N' Stuff to pick up a new pack of gum. When he passed the display of newspapers, he stopped in shock. There, in a slightly-out-of-focus photo, was his own face staring back at him.

"Lawndale Football Team Caught Victimizing Five-Year-Old Boy!" the headline read. Ted picked up the paper and saw that it was a newspaper he'd never heard of called the Lawndale Shopper. He skimmed eagerly through the article.

_...conspiracy among the Lawndale Lions...vicious attack on an innocent child...entire football team the worst in Lawndale history...Lawndale High is clearly a school for losers...will make it my life's work to destroy the credibility of those horrible people...._

Ted stared at the article, which went on to insult Lawndale High School in general and the football team in particular, thanks indirectly to him. _Now the newspaper writer has an extreme distaste for the players, and he's taking his anger out on the entire school. Not only that, but because my photo is next to the article, everyone is sure to blame me for all of this. They'll see me as the worst thing that ever happened to them._

"Hooray!" he cheered. "They'll see me! At last, I've gotten the publicity I've been seeking!" He grabbed every single issue of the Lawndale Shopper and set them on the counter next to his gum. "I'll take all of these, please!" he told the clerk. "They're my ticket to fame...or rather infamy!"

  
  


Ted spent most of the school day distributing copies of the Lawndale Shopper, but he wasn't having much success. Most of the students he gave them to threw the papers away without even looking at them. A few kids glanced at them and grumbled something about tabloids or conspiracy nuts.

At last, after school that day one girl took the paper from him and looked through it, then suddenly squealed, "Oh, _wow_!"

"My thoughts exactly!" Ted exclaimed, thrilled that someone finally recognized his achievement. "Don't forget to tell all of your friends!"

"Of course I will!" the girl replied, pointing to a place in the newspaper that was nowhere near the article about Ted. "Cashman's is having a one-day sale! This is so great!"

The girl rushed off down the hallway, leaving Ted to contemplate yet another failure. As he continued toward the exit, he overheard someone saying, "How about if I call the three local TV stations and tell each one that the other two are running the story?"

He turned to see a crowd of people gathered around a girl--the same girl he'd seen in the news story about the track team!

"Damn," said Ms. Morris, one of the gym teachers. The crowd of people all turned their backs on the girl and walked away.

Ted looked at the girl, now standing alone. _In spite of that article on the paper, she's become an outcast_ , Ted realized. _She was even about to get herself featured on the TV news, and yet they all act like they can't see her...just like me!_

The girl walked past Ted, looking unconcerned about the whole thing. He watched her go, suddenly feeling that he'd found a kindred spirit. "I understand exactly how you must feel," he said, trailing behind her. "Being ignored by people who once admired you, I mean. It's a troubling experience. If you ever need someone to talk to...."

But the girl continued on her way without turning around to look at him. It was almost as though something was preventing her from hearing him.

Ted sighed. _Invisible even among the other invisibles._ He tossed the remaining Lawndale Shoppers into a nearby garbage can. "Perhaps it's just as well," he mused to himself. "Having to sign all those autographs for adoring fans and endorse consumer products would really have cut into my arcade time."


	5. PerforaTed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted makes a new friend and explores the exciting world of body modification.

As Ted was walking through the hall before school one day, he heard a voice coming from the girls' restroom. "Oh, no. The toilet is talking to me again."

Ted stopped dead on the spot and stared at the restroom door in shock. _I couldn't possibly have heard that correctly_ , he told himself. He moved a little closer, just in time to hear the voice say, "Talking Toilet, you may call me 'Jane.'"

_This is incredible!_ Ted's thoughts raced, and he would have burst into the room to see this marvel if it weren't for the fact that a boy going into the girl's restroom was considered a social taboo in most circles. He'd learned that the day he'd decided to try out his parents' advice to "shatter restrictive gender-binary stereotypes based on outdated thinking."

It turned out that iconoclasm was all well and good right up until the point half a dozen shrieking girls started throwing things at you.

Still, he was desperate to witness a toilet that had miraculously developed the power of speech. He sprinted across the hall to enter the boys' restroom, then shoved past a boy who was about to enter one of the stalls. "Excuse me; it's very important!" he called out.

"Obviously," the boy said, rolling his eyes. "Hey, aren't you at least gonna shut the door? Privacy and all that? And no one here wants to see that, anyway!"

Ted looked back at him with mild amusement. "It wouldn't really make any difference if I shut the door," he pointed out. "You'll all be able to hear me either way."

"Dude. Gross." The boy turned away as some of the other guys in the room either snickered or groaned. Ted ignored them all.

"Can you hear me?" he asked the toilet. "Are you able to reply?"

The laughter immediately stopped as the other boys in the room stared in confusion at him. "Dude, are you--" one started to say.

"Shhh!" Ted hissed, not taking his eyes off his porcelain companion. "It might be about to speak!" He winced as a sudden realization hit. "Oh, please excuse me. I hope you aren't offended by my use of the pronoun 'it,' but I'm not yet certain whether you're male or female." He looked at the other boys, who were starting to look a little nervous. "Do toilets have gender?" he asked them.

"Somebody better get Mrs. Manson," one of the boys said quietly. "I think we're dealing with a nutcase."

"Hey!" Ted cried, offended. "That is _not_ a nice way to refer to a toilet!" He turned back to his new friend. "Don't pay attention to them, Talking Toilet. May I call you 'Talking,' or would you prefer I stick with the more formal 'Mr. Toilet'? I'm going to assume that you're male, since you're in the men's restroom, but please do correct me if I'm mistaken."

The toilet emitted a faint gurgling sound.

"I'm sorry; I didn't quite understand that. Could you repeat it, please?" Ted looked around the room at his incredulous audience. "It's possible that Mr. Toilet is feeling shy and doesn't want to speak in front of so many people. If you've all concluded your business in here, would you mind giving us some privacy?"

The room cleared out quickly, with a few mutterings about crazy people and freaks. Ted shook his head sadly as he turned back to the toilet. "I hope you won't take any of those insults personally," he said. "I've found that my fellow students tend to be a bit rude about people or things they don't understand."

He waited for a reply, but received none. Ted felt deeply sad about that, and yet he felt a strange connection to the commode that he'd never experienced before. "I have to go to class soon," he told the toilet. "I'll be back later to chat some more, all right?"

The toilet still said nothing, but somehow Ted was certain it understood him better than anyone else he'd ever met. He emerged just in time to see Jodie Landon about enter the girls' restroom. "Wait!" he said, worried about what her reaction might be if she met a Talking Toilet without any warning. "There's something you should know about--" But he was too late. As the door swung shut behind her, he heard someone say, "Hey, Jodie, check out Daria's navel ring."

Ted checked his watch and decided it was time to head to class. "A navel ring?" he mused out loud. "That sounds utterly fascinating. Not as fascinating as an articulate bathroom fixture, but I think I'd like to try it, too!" Before he left, he poked his head back into the boys' restroom again. "Talking Toilet?" he called out. "Guess what! I'm going to get a navel ring!"

  
  


The first thing Ted had to do upon deciding to get a navel ring was to find out what, exactly, a navel ring was. He knew what a navel was and he knew what a ring was, but the connection between the two was the tricky part. He started by going to the library after school and sitting down with the dictionary, but came up blank. He tried looking under "naval ring" too, just in case it was actually some kind of nautical term he was unfamiliar with. No luck.

Next he tried an internet search, which immediately turned up a variety of very enlightening--and sometimes disturbing--images. The search also returned a business listing: Axl's Piercing Parlor, a local shop on Dega Street.

"Perfect!" Ted murmured, writing down the address. "What better way to experience this new adventure than by relying on the skill and expertise of a qualified professional?"

  
  


"...ain't gonna be liable for anything that goes wrong wif your piercing, so if you're gonna be one o' them crybabies who presses charges over a lousy little infection or some swelling or body parts falling off then you might as well bugger off right now," the proprietor was explaining to Ted. "An' if yer underage then I'm goin' to need to see either written parental permission or a reas'nably convincing fake ID." He walked over to two cardboard boxes full of needles. "Aw, piss," he muttered under his breath. "Which box is for the clean ones again? I really hafta get a label maker or somefing for these."

Ted was too busy looking over the piercing menu to hear any of what Axl had said. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "I never knew that you could punch holes in so many parts of one's body!" He pointed to one of the items on the list. "You should probably correct the spelling on 'uvula' here."

"That's not 'uvula,'" Axl replied as he wiped his hands on his pants to clean them and picked up his piercing gun.

"Then...what is it?" Ted asked. Axl murmured the answer in his ear, and Ted grinned. "Interesting! Can I have one of those, too?"

Axl shook his head. "I don't fink so. But if you're into that kinda thing, I could do you a Prince Albert."

"What's a Prince Albert?"

Axl told him. Fortunately there was a garbage can nearby for Ted to throw up into, although it's hard to say if one more questionable stain on the floor would have really made a difference.

  
  


"...so that's when I decided that body piercing really isn't for me." Ted finished telling his story to the toilet, which had turned out to be a very good listener. It never interrupted or gave him strange looks like his peers did when he tried to talk to them.

"I haven't given up yet, though," he assured his new friend. "It'll take more than a horrific description of body mutilation to keep me from experimenting with this intriguing new subculture." He stood up from where he'd been sitting on the floor. "I've done a little more research, and now I just need to do one more thing."

  
  


Ted tried out his idea that weekend by going back to The Zon, an alternative music club he had once taken Brittany Taylor to on an unsuccessful date. On that occasion, almost every member of the audience had had at least one piercing visible, and now Ted knew that they might have had even more that he couldn't see.

That night he felt right at home among them. A few people in the crowd noted his fourteen piercings and gave him a brief nod of approval, which made Ted glow with pride. _So this is all I needed to do to get people to notice me!_

The lead singer of that night's band came onstage. "Hello. We're Mystik Spiral and I want to say happy birthday to my sister, Jane."

Another band member leaned forward. "This for you, Jane," he added.

The band began playing what for lack of a better word Ted decided to call music. "Little sister, little sister you came into my life like a twister," the singer rasped into the microphone. "What can I get you that you haven't taken? What can I get you that hasn't been killed by corruption and greed?"

The crowd around Ted began to sway back and forth to the music, gently at first but then with increasing force and energy until he found himself slammed in all directions at the center of a wildly-thrashing mob. _My first mosh pit!_ he thought with delight. _How extraordinary!_

He was just starting to enjoy both the chaos and the feeling of being part of a shared group experience when someone's shirt caught on one of his nose rings and yanked it off. Then someone else's hair snagged his eyebrow piercing and jerked it free. Before long his other rings, barbells, and studs were getting ripped away from him until almost all of them were gone.

Ted touched the places where the piercings had once been and sighed. _So much for that idea_ , he thought as he disengaged himself from the mosh pit. _On the bright side, just imagine how much more painful that might have been if any of those piercings had been real!_

  
  


"...and that's why I decided to just steer clear of body modification, at least for the time being," Ted told Still-Not-Yet-Talking Toilet. "Besides, I haven't decided yet if my parents would view it as a feat of rebellion against the narrow preconceptions of society or an act of conformity to an increasingly consumer-driven fad. What do you think?"

Ted heard the toilet clear its throat, and he eagerly leaned forward to hear its advice. "Is everything...all _right_?"

The voice sounded familiar, and Ted realized that it wasn't coming from the toilet. He turned to see his history teacher, Mr. DeMartino, standing just outside the stall and peering in at him with something that looked almost like concern.

"Oh, yes," Ted cheerfully replied as he stood up. "I was just discussing something with my friend here. But if you don't mind," he scolded gently, "this is a private conversation." He pushed the stall door closed, shutting out the teacher.

"Right," came the voice of his teacher from the other side. "How rude of me to eavesdrop on your heart-to-heart with the _plumbing fixture_."

As he heard Mr. DeMartino leave, still muttering under his breath, Ted looked back at the toilet. "Now, where were we?"


	6. Write Said Ted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When given a special assignment by Mr. O'Neill, Ted enters the challenging world of fiction writing.

Ted was just approaching his Language Arts class one afternoon when he was startled to see Daria Morgendorffer leaving the classroom. The surprise wasn't because he didn't expect her to be at school, or because he didn't think she took Language Arts, or because there was anything particularly startling about Daria Morgendorffer.

The surprise was because, despite the high probability of running into any given classmate at the school during a given span of time, he had virtually never seen her in the couple of months since he'd started attending. They'd become something like friends at the time, and yet it seemed like their paths never seemed to cross anymore.

He said her name and began to walk toward her, but she just kept walking as though he wasn't there. She passed right next to him in the hall, still oblivious to his presence, and that's when he noticed that she looked distracted and even a little...unhappy? From his experience with her, it was hard to tell when she was in a bad mood or if that was just her normal expression, but she definitely seemed less pleased than usual.

Ted tried to tell himself that she was just distracted by whatever was bothering her and not deliberately ignoring him, but the fact that he was invisible to yet another fellow classmate still stung. Just as it always did.

The first thing Ted saw upon entering the classroom was a list of books written on the chalkboard: George Orwell's _1984_ , Mark Twain's _Huckleberry Finn_ , Gustave Flaubert's _Madame Bovary_ , and many other books that he'd read in the past. In fact, looking over the titles again, he realized that he'd read every single one of them at least once.

"Hey, I liked reading those books!" he said to Mr. O'Neill, smiling. He didn't always agree with the teacher's ideas or even understand him much of the time, so he thought it would be nice to compliment the man on one of the few things he and Ted seemed to be in agreement on.

"You mean you've read them all?" the teacher asked with a slight frown. Ted nodded. "Oh dear, not again," Mr. O'Neill murmured, looking very worried. Ted briefly wondered if the teacher had for some reason listed several books he disapproved of. It wouldn't be the strangest thing he'd done, after all. Before Ted could try to take back the compliment, the man continued, "Well, I suppose an alternate assignment might be in order here, too, then. Listen...Jamie?"

"Ted."

"Right! Would you be interested in writing a story with moral dimensions?"

"You mean like a news report on morality?" Ted asked. He was sure he could get an interesting interview from his parents for that, although he was sure he'd have to edit it for length...and language.

But Mr. O'Neill was shaking his head. "No, I mean a fictional short story."

"Fiction?" Ted blinked at his teacher. "Well, I suppose I could try it." His fellow classmates were coming in now, and he followed them to his desk to sit down for class. "It's easy to read fiction, so I can only assume it's easy to write it. But where do I even start?"

By the end of the class (which he'd learned from experience to not pay much attention to), he'd decided to turn to his usual standby: research. He went straight to the library after school and looked up "fiction" in the dictionary.

_(noun) something invented by the imagination or feigned; specifically: an invented story_

Ted stared at the definition for several minutes, trying to connect it in some way to something he could understand. _Imagination?_ he thought. _I know what that is, but...how does it work? Do I have one of those?_

Feeling overwhelmed already, he trudged back to Mr. O'Neill's classroom. On the way, he made up his mind to ask his teacher for an _alternate_ alternate assignment. Perhaps one involving gum in some way.

"Hello, Ted!" Mr. O'Neill greeted him as he entered. "Have you decided to enroll in my self-esteem class? Volunteers for the class are always welcome," he added quickly, continuing under his breath, "if nonexistent."

"What?" Ted looked around and saw that there were several students sitting at the desks. "Oh, I didn't realize you had an after-school class in session. I just had a question about my assignment."

Mr. O'Neill turned to the other students. "I think this would be an excellent time to practice visualizing your fully-actualized self!" The kids all closed their eyes and began visualizing, although Ted was pretty sure he heard some of them snoring as they visualized. "What was your question?" Mr. O'Neill asked, turning back to Ted.

"Well, it's just the idea of making up something that didn't happen. While I enjoy reading fictional accounts, I'm not sure I'm capable of coming up with something that isn't based on facts."

His teacher looked confused for a moment, but then his face cleared and he nodded vigorously. "I think I see what you're saying! You mean that you feel like making up a story is too similar to lying, which puts you in an ethical dilemma!"

"Actually, that's not--"

"Which means that by asking you to write a story with moral dimensions, I inadvertently put you in a situation where you yourself are struggling with morality!"

"I really don't think you--"

"Don't worry; I have the perfect solution for you!"

Ted shrugged. "I suspect that's not true, but please go on."

Still not listening, Mr. O'Neill continued, "Instead of writing a completely fictional story, why not write a story based on something that happened to you in real life!"

Ted considered this. "You know, that might work."

Mr. O'Neill beamed. "A Day in the Life of Thad DeSmet-Clayburn!"

Confused, Ted asked, "I thought I was going to be writing about myself?" But Mr. O'Neill had turned his attention back to the self-esteem class and was no longer listening to him. Taking that as a hint, Ted left the classroom.

"Excuuuuse me!" rang out an authoritative voice. Ted turned to see Ms. Li striding toward him, looking very stern. "Visitors are required to sign in at the principal's office upon entering this school!" she informed him, crossing her arms and glaring.

"I beg your pardon, Ms. Li," Ted stammered nervously, "but I'm not a visitor. I'm a student here. Ted DeWitt-Clinton."

"Is that so?" she replied, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

Sighing, Ted, pulled his student ID out of his backpack and handed it to the principal. She inspected it closely, then handed it back with a look of surprise. "It seems I was in error," she said.

"It's all right," Ted assured her glumly. "It happens all the time."

  
  


_Ted woke up at 7:00 AM like he always did, although some days he woke up earlier. On this day he definitely woke up at 7:00, though, because that's when his alarm went off and he remembered hearing it go off that morning. So he woke up at 7:00 and got up to get ready for school. He picked out a dark beige pair of pants and blue shirt to wear, but then noticed the blue shirt was a little wrinkled so he decided to go with the green one instead. He got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast, where he had a half a piece of grapefruit and some granola. No, quinoa. Wait, maybe it was granola after all._

_To be continued._

Putting down his pen, Ted went downstairs and found his mother in the middle of dialing the phone. "Did I have granola or quinoa for breakfast yesterday?" he asked her.

Leslie DeWitt blinked at him, looking both confused and slightly frazzled. "I don't remember. Why?"

"I'm writing a--"

She waved him off and finished dialing. "Can this wait?" she interrupted. "I'm trying to organize a boycott of Mr. Frigid."

"The ice cream shop?"

She nodded and held the phone to her ear, shaking her head in disgust. "Can you believe they only serve one flavor of vegan ice cream? It's a disgrace."

Before Ted could reply, the person on the other end of the line picked up and his mother launched straight into a tirade. He shrugged and went back to his room to work on his story. He reread what he'd written so far and sighed before crumpling up the draft and pushing it aside.

"I seem to be getting bogged down in all those details," he said as he took out a fresh sheet of recycled paper and picked up his pencil again. "Perhaps if I just stick to the basics this time...."

_Ted woke up, got dressed, had breakfast, walked to school, went to his classes, ate lunch, went to more classes, walked home, did his homework, ate his dinner, read a book, brushed his teeth, and went to bed._

He reread what he'd written. "Er...that might be a bit _too_ basic. At the very least, I suspect Mr. O'Neill would appreciate a story that's more than one sentence long."

He contemplated trying again, but decided it might be better to take a break from writing. "I've written fewer than two hundred words and I already feel exhausted. Hey, I think I'm experiencing my first ever writer's block! How exciting!"

Ted sighed and set aside his writing for the night. "Who knows? Inspiration may strike during school tomorrow."

  
  


_CRASH!_

"Head's up!" The warning came too late, as the football had already slammed into Ted's back and nearly knocked him over. He rubbed his back and picked up the football as Kevin Thompson trotted over to retrieve it.

"That's not the kind of inspiration I was thinking of," Ted said, wincing slightly.

"Huh?" The quarterback showed no sign of recognizing Ted from his attempt to join the football team a few weeks before, but that was nothing new to Ted. No one ever seemed to recognize him from anything, and he was starting to get used to that. He still didn't like it, but he was getting used to it.

"Nothing," Ted said with a sigh. "Just having trouble with a story I'm working on."

"Hey, I know how that is," Kevin said, nodding sympathetically. "It wasn't so bad when it was just Dick and Jane running and stuff, but these days teachers expect you to read stuff with big words and chapters and, y'know, plots!"

"I mean a story I'm writing, not reading," Ted clarified. "It's just not... _interesting_."

"Oh, yeah, stories definitely have to be fun," Kevin said, turning the football around in his hands. "Like, do you read _Ratboy_?"

Ted was perplexed. "I'm, er, not familiar with that author."

"Naw, it's a comic. Really great stuff, too. Last issue Ratboy grabbed this dude's ears and pulled them apart until his head split in half! The other dude's head, I mean. Not Ratboy's. But it was awesome! Like, BAM! SPLOOSH! Brains everywhere!"

Ted stared at Kevin in fascinated horror. "I'm not sure that's physically possible," he said, "but that does sound, well, pretty cool!"

"You bet it is!" Kevin slapped Ted on the back, hitting the bruise left by the football only minutes earlier, then jogged off down the hall.

"Excitement, huh?" Ted mused. "I think that's just what my story needs!"

  
  


_Ted woke up and got dressed! Boom! Then he had breakfast and walked to school! Pow! He went to his classes and later he ate lunch! Wham! He went to more classes and eventually walked home! Crash! He did his homework while listening to music! Zap! He ate his dinner and then read a book! Bang! He brushed his teeth before he went to bed!_

_No one's head was torn in half during the course of this day, but if that had happened then that, too, would have been terribly exciting! Wow!_

Rereading his latest draft, Ted tapped his pencil thoughtfully against his chin. At last he shook his head. "It _seems_ like it should be exciting," he told himself slowly, "but somehow I don't think it quite reaches the same high standards as _Ratboy_."

Putting down the pencil, Ted stood and left his room in search of his father. He found him in the living room, putting the finishing touches on one of many protest signs. Ted noticed "Mr. Frigid" mentioned multiple times. "You're helping Mom with her ice cream project?" he asked.

Grant Clinton looked up in surprise, as though he'd forgotten Ted even lived there. "Oh, is she protesting Mr. Frigid, too?" He clucked his tongue. "Did you hear they're adding more vegan flavors to their menu? It's just like a corporate giant, trying to muscle out small businesses like Frosty Tofu or Soy Dream!"

"Uh huh," Ted said, eager to ask his question. "Listen, I could use some help with--"

"Hey, have you seen my thesaurus? I'm trying to think of more words to use for corrupt.'"

"I haven't, but since you brought up writing, could I just--"

"What do you think looks better written across the smiling ice cream cone?" Grant was still studying his sign. "'Depraved' or 'obscene'?"

"I...don't know." Ted gave up and returned to his room, leaving his father on his own to figure out the best way to do battle against the ice cream shop.

  
  


The next day, Ted made a quick detour to the boys' restroom to ask his friend Talking Toilet for advice, but came up with nothing useful. He felt depressed as he entered his Language Arts class, and not for the usual reason this time. He took his seat, and Mr. O'Neill approached him right away. "Hello, um, Robert!"

"Ted."

"Of course. I was wondering if perhaps you've been struggling with your assignment like Da--um, like some other student might."

Ted looked at his teacher in surprise, unaccustomed to witnessing actual insight from him. The experience was actually slightly worrisome. "As it happens, yes, I am!" he said hopefully. "I just can't seem to--"

"Might I suggest that you add a card game to your story?"

Life suddenly made sense again; Mr. O'Neill had yet again completely missed the point. "Card game?" Ted asked. "I didn't play a card game on the day I'm writing about."

Mr. O'Neill's smile only widened. "Oh, that doesn't matter. This is a fictional story, so you can include features that didn't really happen."

"Ah." Ted thought about this. "Oh!" An epiphany had struck--Ted could _make up things to put in his story_. "Thank you!" he said to his teacher, and for once he actually meant it. Mr. O'Neill's face lit up and he practically danced back to the front of the room to start class. Ted immediately tuned out the teacher's lecture as usual as he began planning the next draft of his story.

The school day ended before he came up with any solid ideas, but he felt optimistic as he left. On his way out the door, he noticed Kevin standing outside. The boy appeared to be trying to balance a pencil on his nose, but judging from the bruises on his face he had somehow managed to poke himself in the eye with it multiple times.

"Thanks for your help yesterday!" Ted called to him as he passed.

"Sure, no problem!" Kevin called back. The pencil fell off again, and he looked at Ted as he picked it up. "What help?"

"With my story?" Ted offered, trying to prompt his memory. "You suggested adding action and excitement?"

Kevin, if possible, looked blanker than usual.

"Like _Ratboy_?"

Kevin's eyes lit up at the mention of _Ratboy_ , but otherwise he still showed no recognition of what Ted was talking about.

"You hit me in the back with a football?"

"I did? Huh. Um, saw-ree!"

Ted shook his head in bemusement. "I beat you in a grip contest. I convinced you not to perform brain surgery on one of your fellow students. You ran away from me when I tried to join the football team. We had a lengthy conversation twenty-four hours ago!"

"Cool." Kevin grinned, then waved as he turned to leave. "Well, nice meeting you!"

"But we--" Ted stopped and finally gave up. "Sure. Fine. Nice meeting you. Again."

  
  


As soon as Ted got home that day, he sat down at his desk and prepared to write. He was all ready to write out another sequence of events, planning to add in exciting scenes like car chases and sword fights as he went, but before he could put down even the first word he set down his pencil again.

_I don't want to write about a thrilling day full of adventure_ , he realized. _That kind of thing is all right for Ratboy, but I'd be happy to just have a day where--_

He stopped and began to smile. Inspiration had finally struck, and he knew exactly what he wanted to write. He picked up his pencil again and began to write furiously, without stopping.

_..."Well done!" Ted's father exclaimed. He smiled at his son as he set aside his notes on his planned boycott of Pizza Forest._

_"Absolutely!" his mother added, also ignoring her most recent project because she was content to just spend time with Ted. "We're so proud of you!"_

He kept writing, finishing that scene and beginning a new one without hesitation.

_..."Of course I know your name," Mr. O'Neill said with a chuckle. "Who could forget Ted DeWitt-Clinton? Especially after seeing all of the fine work you produce in class, which I completely understand and appreciate!"_

The words were coming faster and faster, and Ted's pencil was barely able to keep up with his thoughts.

_..."Hey, look! It's Ted!" called out one of his classmates._

_"Oh, good! I sure like Ted," said another classmate._

_"Yeah, Ted's definitely unforgettable!"_

_"Three cheers for Ted! We'll always know who he is!"_

Ted's fingers were beginning to cramp from clutching his pencil so tightly, but he barely noticed in his excitement and eagerness to continue writing.

_..."And so it is with great pleasure," Ms. Li announced, "that I declare this day National Ted DeWitt-Clinton Awareness Day!"_

_The crowd erupted into applause, and Ted stepped onto the stage to accept his award._

Almost panting with exertion, Ted finally stopped writing. "Hmm," he mused, rereading his ending. "Perhaps that's going a little too far." He started to cross the last scene out, then gasped. "Oh! I almost forgot!"

Leaning over the page again, Ted quickly wrote in a new ending.

_"And so it is with great pleasure," Ms. Li announced, "that I declare this day National Card Game Day!"_

_So everyone at the school played card games. It might have been exciting, especially if Ratboy was playing as well, but that's not really important to this story._

_The end._

"Whew!" Ted sighed, setting down the pencil at last. "That was close. I almost forgot to include the card game, and leaving it out would have made the whole story seem ridiculous!"

  
  


"Excuse me, Mr. O'Neill?" Ted asked his teacher after school the next day. He'd waited until after the Self-Esteem class was over, having spent an enlightening and pleasant hour chatting with Talking Toilet in the meantime.

"Yes, Corey?" the teacher asked cheerfully.

Ted didn't bother to correct him this time. "I was just wondering if you'd had a chance to read my story yet?"

Mr. O'Neill coughed nervously as he rummaged through the papers on his desk and pulled out Ted's story. "Ah, yes, as a matter of fact I did."

"And...what did you think?"

"Er...it was...interesting...."

Ted could see by his teacher's expression that he was holding something back. "But...?" he prompted.

"Well...I'm afraid I couldn't relate to the character you created. Um..." He stopped and glanced at the story again before continuing, "Ted. All he seemed to want from life is for people to know his name or for his parents to talk to him. Usually in stories the character has some sort of goal or desire that they want to obtain, but Ted doesn't seem to want anything except to be recognized."

"That's correct."

"But that's just not realistic! I mean, people don't simply get regularly ignored by other people, especially their teachers or their parents, do they?"

Ted took the story from Mr. O'Neill and put it into his backpack without a word. He turned to leave the classroom, but just before he walked out the door he paused. Without looking back at his teacher, he said, "Ask Ted Dewitt-Clinton next time you see him."

With that, he walked away, leaving Mr. O'Neill to shuffle through his seating charts in search of the unfamiliar student's name.


	7. CorrecTed Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Daria shows up at school without her glasses, Ted begins to wonder if glasses might somehow be the key to his invisibility.

It was a lovely Saturday afternoon. The light generated by the sun was unbroken by clouds or other obstructions, the temperature and humidity levels were well within a comfortable range, and several birds were uttering musical vocalizations intended for either territorial or mating purposes. Ted was walking home from the video arcade when he noticed a medium-sized bulldog approaching him.

"Hello," Ted greeted the dog. He was engaging in the common ritual of speaking to animals as a friendly gesture, knowing that the dog most likely didn't understand him and wouldn't respond. _Then again_ , Ted reflected, _I would have said the same thing about toilets not so long ago, and now Talking Toilet is one of my closest confidantes!_

He watched the dog closely for a short time, but the dog didn't speak. Instead, it wagged its tail and looked expectantly at Ted.

"Er...can I help you with something?" Ted asked. He looked around and noticed a stick lying nearby. "Ah! I see," he said, picking it up. "I've heard dogs are often fond of chasing sticks. Would you like me to throw this?"

The dog barked and wagged its tail harder. Taking that for an affirmative response, Ted sent the stick flying across the street. The dog happily ran after it and, after picking it up in its mouth, began to return to Ted.

At that moment a red SUV came haltingly down the road. It was on a direct course toward the dog. Before Ted could act, the car screeched to a sudden stop, narrowly missing the dog. From inside the car Ted heard a vaguely-familiar voice call out, "I'm a dog killer!"

The dog, unaware of its near-death experience, barked happily and continued on its way across the street. Ted accepted the stick back from the dog and watched as the SUV drove off again at a very slow pace. Looking back at the dog, he tossed the stick again, this time in a safer direction.

"Who knew there were serial puppy killers in Lawndale?" Ted asked himself, bemused, before continuing on his way home.

  
  


The next few days passed uneventfully, but at school on Wednesday Ted was shocked to see no less than three people--one of them a teacher--fail to recognize his friend Daria. Until that day, he'd believed the phenomenon of being invisible or unfamiliar was restricted only to himself, but now he wondered if the condition might be spreading.

_Poor Daria_ , he thought sadly as another student assumed Daria was new to Lawndale High. _As if it wasn't bad enough that today she seems to have misplaced her glasses._ He thought for a moment. _Is it possible that the two are connected somehow?_ Then he shook his head. _That's silly. You'd have to be very unobservant not to recognize someone just because they aren't wearing glasses!_

Still, for the sake of scientific investigation he tried removing his own glasses. _Perhaps this will have the opposite effect for me, and now everyone will recognize me at last!_ He approached a groups of students who were in several of his classes and waited to see if any of them noticed him. Nothing. Sighing, he put the glasses back on. _I guess it only works for Daria. Well, Daria and Superman._

  
  


Ted kept thinking about the situation for the rest of the day, and by the time his last class ended he decided he needed to find Daria and offer his sympathy. He knew well enough how painful it could be to feel invisible amongst one's peers, so he felt it was his duty to give her his full support during this difficult time.

It only took him a short time to find Daria after school. She was being led by her friend Jane, who had stopped to tie her boot. He approached Daria and gave her a friendly smile. She stared right through him without a trace of recognition. He considered saying something to help her remember him, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. _She clearly doesn't remember me,_ he thought sadly. He turned around and left as Jane straightened back up and led Daria away.

  
  


The next day he thought he might try to find Daria again, just in case the previous day had been a fluke. It turned out he didn't need to look very hard for her; not long after he arrived at school he came almost face-to-face with her. He noted that she was still without her glasses, and wondered if she was still having trouble with people not recognizing her. He opened his mouth to ask, but she walked right past him, blinking and squinting as she went.

_Well, that answers that_ , Ted told himself glumly. _She didn't even recognize me up close._

He got another chance to speak with her on his way to a class a couple hours later. She was heading toward him in the hallway, and he was about to ask if she wanted to compare notes on their shared condition when she slammed into him and nearly knocked him over. Daria mumbled an apology and continued on her way. _Wow, I must be particularly hard to remember today_ , Ted realized in surprise. _She didn't even know me after literally running into me!_

At lunchtime, he saw her sitting with her friend and decided to try approaching her one last time. _Perhaps I could offer her my sympathy_ , he thought. Before he could reach them, though, she stood up and ran from the table. _She seems very upset,_ Ted noted. _I suppose I don't blame her. Invisibility can take some getting used to._ He started to follow, seeing Jane go after her as well. He lost track of them in the hallway, but as he passed the girl's restroom he heard Jane say, "Talking Toilet?"

_Ah_ , Ted thought with relief. _Daria's in excellent hands, then. Talking Toilet will sort everything out._

  
  


Although he was confident in Talking Toilet's problem-solving abilities, Ted was trying to decide if he should try to talk to Daria again after school--just in case. Before he could even start looking for her he saw Kevin coming near. Unusually, the boy was wearing glasses. Even more unusual was that the glasses appeared to contain only one lens.

"Hello, Kevin!" Ted greeted him. Kevin grinned and nodded back, which relieved Ted. _He recognizes me, anyway._

"What do you think of my new glasses?" Kevin asked.

_The glasses!_ Ted almost gasped in surprise. Once again, a student's glasses--or lack of them--was influencing their ability to remember or even see Ted. He scrutinized them closely, leaning in until his nose was almost touching Kevin's.

"Uh...dude?" Kevin asked, taking a nervous step backwards.

"Oh! I apologize. I was just trying to determine whether your glasses confer any kind of special abilities."

"What, you mean like superpowers? Aw, that would be so cool!" Then Kevin's grin grew even bigger. "Now that you mention it, these things _do_ make me smarter. It's kind of a lame superpower, though. I'd rather be able to, like, shoot laser beams or make stuff explode when I punch it!"

Ted had already stopped listening. "Smarter, you say?" He peered at the glasses again with increased interest. "So you now perceive things--and people--that you ordinarily wouldn't, right?"

"...Okay?" Kevin replied with a confused frown.

"Fascinating!" Ted exclaimed. "So the presence of eyeglasses where none previously were worn heighten the wearer's perceptions, while the absence of eyeglasses where glasses would normally be worn decrease the wearer's perceptions! It's all so obvious!"

Kevin blinked at him in confusion, then slowly removed his glasses. He looked at them nervously, then looked at Ted's. "Man, I think you've been wearing those for too long."

"Hmmm." Ted continued talking aloud to himself as Kevin continued on his way to football practice. "Is it possible that prolonged exposure to corrective lenses might be the cause of my unexplained condition?" He removed his glasses. "I dismissed that hypothesis yesterday, but perhaps I was too quick to do so. I suppose the only way to find out for sure is through a more rigorous test!"

Tucking the glasses safely into his shirt pocket, Ted began walking down the hallway toward the school exit. He passed several of his fellow students along the way, but none of them showed any more sign of recognizing him than before. Ted sighed and decided to continue the experiment anyway.

He wandered the school grounds for almost half an hour, waiting to hear someone call out to him, but no such greeting came. He did find, however, that he was having a great deal of difficulty recognizing other people while his glasses were off. _It's an interesting side effect, but the experiment remains inconclusive._ Pulling the glasses out of his pocket and putting them back on, Ted began to head home. He decided that, whether or not they kept people from noticing him, he was better off wearing them--he was starting to get a headache.

_Hmmm_ , he thought with sudden inspiration. _Perhaps if I distribute glasses to all of the_ other _students at Lawndale High--_

"Mom, I have something to tell you."

The voice interrupted Ted's thoughts and he looked up to see that Daria was standing a short distance away. She and Jane were speaking to someone in a familiar red SUV. Suddenly, the memory of the previous Saturday returned to him--the near-accident, the wildly-careening vehicle, and the voice confessing to murdering dogs...the voice that he now recognized as Daria's.

_It couldn't be!_ Ted tried to convince himself that he was mistaken. His friend Daria would never do something so terrible, would she? Then he saw Daria looking at a group of dogs through narrowed eyes and realized that it must be true. _And all this time I thought she seemed like such a nice person._

As Ted sadly walked away, he decided that from now on it would probably be best if he kept his distance from Daria. _She's focusing her violent deeds on dogs for now,_ he reasoned, _but she might be slowly working her way up to humans._

For the first time in his life, Ted felt grateful for his tendency to be overlooked by others. _It's much safer that way._


	8. Ted Talks Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted's Awareness of Others Week service activity brings him unexpected joy but also lands him in an ethical dilemma.

"...and that brings me to reason number thirty-four why women are genetically superior to men," Ms. Barch was telling her students. Science class was one of the rare places where Ted actually appreciated other people's tendency to overlook him. Ms. Barch directed a lot of anger at the boys in the class, but her gaze seemed to slide right over him whenever she looked in his direction.

At that moment, Ms. Li entered the classroom and asked, "Students, aren't we a bunch of lucky so-and-sos?" When no one replied, she barreled onward with what sounded like a prepared speech. "With all that this great land has given us, shouldn't we think about giving back just a little? So, as part of the school district's first annual Awareness of Others Week, I'm asking each Lawndale High student to sign up for an extracurricular activity to make the world a better place. One hundred percent participation will earn, ahem, all of us special recognition from the superintendent of schools. Now, I want all of you to go out there and make the school--and its principal--look good. Resume learning!"

Ms. Li left as abruptly as she'd entered, leaving Ms. Barch to continue her tirade-disguised-as-lecture. After class let out, Ted and his fellow classmates spilled out into the hallway and found the Awareness of Others sign-up sheets hanging on the bulletin board. He considered his options as he read each one.

"Arts and crafts class at the hospital children's ward?" Ted thought about his skill with woodworking and other crafts and raised his pen. He was just about to write his name when he took a step back to reconsider. "My last attempt at jewelry making didn't go over very well. Perhaps something else would be better."

Next he saw the option of reading with seniors. "Oh, dear. I couldn't possibly force those poor senior citizens to read! With the notoriously poor eyesight of the elderly, it would just be cruel!" He shook his head and kept looking. "Collecting clothes for the homeless door to door? No, the neighbors stopped speaking to us after Mom and Dad started that riot at the neighborhood barbecue when they found out the potato salad wasn't organic." He shuddered at the violent memories of hurled coleslaw and overturned grills.

He brightened quickly as he turned to the next sign-up sheet. "Highway debris removal. Well, I can't think of anything wrong with that idea!"

  
  


"Here are your bags, your safety vest, and your gloves," the site supervisor told Ted when he arrived for work a few days later.

"Gloves?" Ted asked, confused. "It's not cold out. Why do I need gloves?"

The supervisor waved his arm to indicate the massive amount of garbage strewn along the highway. "You do _not_ want to touch this stuff with your bare hands. Trust me."

Ted looked around and saw what he was referring to. The greasy fast-food wrappers fluttering in the breeze. The decaying roadkill covered in smears of dried blood and swarming with flies. The piles of empty beer cans, most of them stacked near an overpass with "QB WUZ HERE" spray-painted on it. He looked back at his supervisor, who gave him a half-hearted wave before climbing back into his car. Shuddering slightly, he got to work.

Half an hour later, Ted gingerly deposited yet another used tissue into his bag and sighed. "I should have picked something else," he moaned. "I don't think this job could possibly get any worse."

At that moment, a car roared into view. The horn blared, and the driver leaned out of his window to shout, "Loser!" as he passed. Soon another car approached. This time the driver slowed down just long enough to hurl a plastic cup full of soda out the window, which hit Ted and splattered his clothes. The driver laughed uproariously, then squealed her tires as she sped away.

More cars passed, many of them honking their horns or yelling insults as they went by. Ted took all the abuse quietly, his face a mixture of emotions. When a well-aimed cigarette nearly scorched his hair, he finally let his emotions run loose.

"Hooray!" he shouted, leaping into the air with a grin. At long last, people were _noticing_ him. It was one of the happiest days of his entire life, and he was humming as he resumed his work.

By the end of his shift, Ted stood on a much cleaner stretch of highway, holding one of many full bags of trash. He'd also learned a great deal about the internal organs of raccoons, heard several new synonyms for "loser," and seen enough discarded gum to lose his appetite for the stuff for months.

His supervisor pulled up and climbed out of the truck. "Looks like you've had a productive day!" he told Ted, gesturing at the pile of garbage bags.

Ted nodded. "What do we do with them now?"

The supervisor picked up two of the bags and tossed them into the back of his truck to join those he'd already collected from other volunteers. "I'm going to take all this to the landfill," he said.

Ted looked at the bags, all of them crammed full of garbage. "Oh...no," he gasped in horror.

  
  


"Mom! Dad!" Ted cried as he ran into the house. "Come quick! I have a moral dilemma!"

Grant and Leslie hurried into the room, looking concerned. "Did someone try to offer you gum again?" his mother demanded angrily. "You know that gum--"

"--is a gateway to more dangerous things like fast food and soda, yes," Ted finished impatiently. "It's about my volunteer work. I decided to help clean up the highway, but I just found out that all of the garbage I picked up is going to the landfill!" He buried his face in his hands. "I know I don't have to tell you both about the negative impact even one of those Styrofoam coffee cups will have on the environment."

His parents exchanged a panicked look. "This is terrible," Grant said, putting a comforting arm around his son.

"We'll take immediate action," Leslie agreed, joining them in a hug.

Ted sniffed and looked gratefully at them. "I knew I could count on you to help," he said. "What should we do?"

"We're going straight to the principal to insist that she resolve this," Grant said firmly.

Leslie nodded. "I'll go get the emergency complaint kit. Do you think we'll need the bullhorn?"

Grant thought about it. "Better bring it, just in case."

  
  


Ms. Li peered at the unhappy-looking family sitting across from her and frowned slightly. "My secretary informs me that you have an issue with your son's community service assignment. May I ask what the problem might be?"

Before Ted could even open his mouth, both of his parents stood up and leaned angrily over the principal's desk. Leslie pounded her fist so hard it scattered a few papers. "We demand that you stop exposing Ted to the consumer-driven leavings of this empty shell of a society!"

The principal gaped. "I beg your pardon?"

Grant held up a large paper bag and upended it over her desk, spilling garbage everywhere. "Ultra Cola cans, Cluster Burger wrappers, ZooZoo Drop boxes...do you have any idea how much corporate propaganda our son has had to endure? It's enough to make anyone sick."

The trash spread over Ms. Li's desk, some of it landing in her lap. She leaped out of her chair in shock and tried to protect her papers and supplies from damage. "How dare you come in here and--"

"No, how dare _you_!" Leslie interrupted. "How dare you force our child to pick up after a town obsessed with mindless capitalism? It's bad enough that you let the rest of the students in this school run wild; do you have to darken poor Ted's soul as well?"

"Run wild?" Ms. Li sputtered. "I'll have you know that I run the most disciplined school in the county!"

"That's true," Ted interjected. "Everyone here says she's a control freak."

"Thank you," Ms. Li said, blushing.

"If you really wanted to run a decent school," Grant thundered, ignoring them, "you'd shield your students from the hollow, meaningless pursuit of pop culture waste!"

As the adults continued to argue, Ted leaned back in his chair and tuned them out. He had already figured out that neither his parents nor his principal cared about where the garbage went, so it was up to him to solve this.

_All that trash, filling up landfills and ruining the environment. Still, it wouldn't be right to just leave it all on the side of the highway, either. So what to do?_

He was still pondering the question when the argument grew louder and broke into his concentration. "...and that filth you call food in the cafeteria? Nothing but trans fats and nonorganic poison!"

"You'd prefer organic poison?" Ms. Li asked sarcastically. "And, may I ask, where is the money for all of this so-called better food supposed to come from?"

"Maybe if you weren't spending all of the school's funds on security equipment you'd start seeing a budget surplus. Or would you rather just keep cutting back on programs like music and art instead?"

_Art? Hmmm._ As Ms. Li and his parents continued to debate the fine distinctions between education and fascism, Ted began to form an idea.

  
  


Ted's next shift on highway cleanup was even more pleasant than his first. He smiled and waved at every heckler that drove past as he collected several bags' worth of garbage. When the supervisor came to collect it, though, Ted shook his head. "I'm going to keep this, if you don't mind."

"It's your junk, kid," the supervisor replied with a shrug.

Aside from the confused looks he kept getting on the bus, Ted had no trouble getting the trash bags home. Once there, he spread out a tarp on his bedroom floor and got to work.

  
  


By the end of his service project, Ted was ready to show off his creations. He called his parents into his room for the big unveiling.

" _Voila_!" he cried, pulling sheets off of his work with a flourish.

Grant and Leslie looked at it all in silence for a few minutes. "It's...creative," his mother said haltingly, as though searching for the right words.

"Yes!" his father chimed in gratefully. "Creative."

"Really?" Ted asked, beaming with pride. "Which one is your favorite?"

His parents seemed to be trying to look-without-really looking at the sculptures that Ted had assembled from the trash he'd brought home. His father pointed at one at random. "Um, that one." Leslie nodded her agreement.

"Oh, the rhinoceros? Yes, I'm especially proud of it. What do you like about it?"

His mother let out a sigh, shrugged, and took a step closer to the rhinoceros. "The cigarette butts you crafted into eyes look surprisingly lifelike, and it was a very interesting choice to use syringes for the horns."

Grant looked at the sculpture and back at his son with slightly widened eyes. "You were careful when you made all these, right?"

Ted nodded. "I used gloves the whole time. Wouldn't want to hurt myself on the sharp points or broken glass!"

Relieved, his parents relaxed slightly. "And what did you use to attach all of these beer cans together?" Grant asked, peering closely at the sculpture.

"I found a lot of these things called condoms while I was picking up trash," Ted explained. "They're surprisingly strong and flexible, perfect for tying things together! I'm thinking of buying more to use for art projects."

Grant pulled his face back from the sculpture while Leslie made an odd choking sound.

Ted's smile dimmed as he began to realize that his parents didn't look nearly as enthusiastic as he'd expected. "Did I do something wrong?"

His parents exchanged a wary look. "Um...no," Leslie assured him. "Everything's fine. It's just, er, we're speechless at your resourcefulness and imagination. So impressive."

"Great!" Ted's good mood returned instantly. "So will you help me bring these to school so I can present them to Ms. Li at the assembly tomorrow?"

" _No!_ " Grant and Leslie shouted at the same time.

"But there are so many of them," Ted protested. "It will take me hours to move them all on my own!"

His parents were giving each other that look again. After the family had stood in awkward silence for a minute or two, Leslie finally spoke up. "I have a better idea," she said with a shaky smile. "I think we should put them all on display right here at home!"

"Yes, that's a great idea!" Grant said quickly. "I think we'll arrange them in the back yard, in between the squash and the beans!"

"But no one will be able to see them back there," Ted pointed out. "Why not the front yard?"

"The sculptures would...um...." Grant fumbled for words.

"Block the sunlight from the corn," Leslie cut in, rescuing her husband.

"Then wouldn't the beans and squash have the same--"

"The back yard it is!" Grant cried. "I'll go get the wheelbarrow and we can start loading them up!"

As he helped his parents cart the sculptures outside, Ted decided to save the best news for later: he'd already donated a few of his favorite sculptures to display at various places in town, including the lobby of the Alfred Joyce Kilmer Library, the picnic area of High Hills Park, and the Village Green.

He'd offered one of his works to the Cedars of Lawndale Hospital, but they'd very firmly refused. Claiming an unorthodox experience in the children's ward, he was told in no uncertain terms that the hospital building had already seen more bizarre artwork than they cared to.

_I'll have to see if Mom and Dad will go to the Lawndale Art Museum with me this weekend_ , he decided. _They'll be so surprised to see their newest exhibit!_


	9. Ted Takes a Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted meets up with Cupid and St. Patrick's Day, but will he be able to help them convince Christmas, Halloween, and Guy Fawkes Day to return to Holiday Island? Well...no. Probably not.

"Oof! Watch where you're going, would you?" An angry voice with an Irish accent made Ted stop walking and look around, but soon saw that he wasn't the one being yelled at. A small man in green clothes was crawling out of a dumpster behind the Good Time Chinese Restaurant, followed closely by a large man in a diaper.

_Whew. For a moment I thought maybe something was wrong._

"Sorry," the laid-back man in the diaper replied. They stood up and noticed Ted, who was thrilled by the rare attention.

"Good day to you, laddie," called the smaller man. "Perhaps you could help us."

"I'll certainly try," Ted said, walking over. He was so grateful to be noticed that he would have handed over his last piece of gum if they'd asked. "What can I do?"

The diapered man spoke first. "This is the St. Patrick's Day leprechaun, I'm Cupid, also known as the personification of Valentine's Day. We're looking for Christmas, Halloween and Guy Fawkes Day. See, they left Holiday Island to try to start a hip hop-punk-electronica band here in Lawndale."

St. Patrick's Day reached up to smack Cupid on the back of the head. "Don't just tell him everything right off the bat, you bleeding idiot! Now he'll think we're--"

Ted nodded. "Okay, and what can I do to help?"

The two holidays stared at him. Ted enjoyed being noticed, but this was starting to feel awkward.

"You mean you believe us?" Cupid asked at last.

"Sure. When your best friend is a talking toilet, you kind of have to keep an open mind about things like this."

The two holidays looked like they were going to comment on this, but glanced at each other and shook their heads briefly. "Then you'll help us?" St. Patrick's Day asked.

"Absolutely!" Ted started back on his way home, and the two holidays fell into step beside him.

"That's great!" the leprechaun said. "The first thing we have to do is track down Christmas, Halloween, and Guy Fawkes Day."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure his name is Bonfire Night."

Cupid blinked at him. "Err...okay. But the important thing is--"

"That reminds me; if you're the personification of Valentine's Day, then why are you a symbol from classical mythology? Wouldn't St. Valentine himself be more appropriate?"

"I got an upgrade when my holiday became more popular than the other saints' days." After a brief glare from St. Patrick's Day he quickly added, " _Most_ of the other saints' days."

"And you," Ted said, turning his eager gaze on the leprechaun. "Do you know how to drive snakes out of countries? I've always wondered how that worked."

"My holiday is really a little different nowadays," St. Patrick's Day began, then stopped with a frown. "Now, hold on just a minute! This is too important to waste time. If we don't bring the other holidays back, it will mess with the natural order of things! Christmas, Halloween, and Guy Fawkes Day--"

"Bonfire Night," Cupid cut in helpfully.

"Shut up. And if the trend continues, who knows what other holidays may disappear from existence?"

Ted gasped. "You don't mean--"

"We do!"

"Not--"

"Yes!"

"National Sea Monkey Day!"

St. Patrick's Day, to his credit, recovered quickly. "That's right! And many more, as well!"

"That's terrible!" Ted shook his head in sorrow as they reached his house, where his parents were busy in the front yard, harvesting the corn. "Hey, Mom and Dad! Guess what: I'm going to help save the holidays from oblivion!"

Not looking up from their work, his parents both snorted in derision. "Don't bother," his mother said, pulling savagely at a cornstalk. "All holidays are just excuses for greeting card companies and jewelry salesman to force their agenda on a consumption-driven public."

"Don't forget the candy pushers," his father added. "Nothing but an orgy of over-processed sugary poison dressed up as 'fun.'"

"Um...." Ted looked nervously at Cupid and St. Patrick's Day, wondering if he should change his mind about helping them.

Before he could say anything, Cupid held up a strange electronic gizmo. "Don't worry," he said. "I got this." He pointed the device at Ted's parents and pressed a button. Two bolts of lightning shot out of it and hit Ted's parents, who jumped slightly and then looked at each other with a strange new affection.

"Oh, Grant," Leslie cooed, taking her husband's hand. "Have I told you lately that I love you more than a stack of poster board and a fresh box of markers?"

"And you're more precious to me than a million signatures on an anti-GMO petition," Grant said back, nuzzling her cheek.

"You know what I'm in the mood for?" Leslie asked in a low, sultry voice.

"I can guess," he said with a knowing smile.

"Letter writing campaign?"

"Race you!"

Ted's parents raced into the house in search of pens and paper, leaving Ted alone with his new holiday friends.

"So anyway," Ted told them, "I'm definitely interested in helping you, but I should warn you that the other holidays might ignore me. You see, I have a hard time getting people to notice me."

"How so?" asked St. Patrick's Day.

"Let me show you." A stranger walked past the trio on the sidewalk, and Ted waved in greeting. "Hello!" The stranger looked up, saw the large man in a diaper standing next to Ted, and hurried on his way without responding. "You see?" Ted said.

"Hmmm." Cupid and St. Patrick's Day looked at each other nervously.

Ted realized that his big chance was about to slip away. "But now I can definitely get noticed! I'll take pictures of you and the other holidays for the yearbook. With something that incredible to share, everyone will have to pay attention to me! Just let me run inside to get my camera and--"

"No, no, no!" St. Patrick's Day interrupted, horrified at the idea. "This is a secret mission! You can't tell anyone about it."

Seeing how worried the two holidays looked, Ted glumly nodded in agreement. "I guess I'm too unremarkable for this job, then. Is there some way I can still help?"

Cupid patted Ted's shoulder in comfort. "We appreciate it, dude. Hey, maybe you can point us in the direction of someone who _is_ remarkable?"

Ted thought about it. "Remarkable? Actually, one name does come to mind...."


End file.
